


Built from the Fire

by TheThievingMagpie



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Character Development, Demiromantic Character, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Inquisitor Trevelyan - Freeform, Lyrium Withdrawal, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, mentions of abduction, mentions of sex as a minor, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 08:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 141,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6558949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThievingMagpie/pseuds/TheThievingMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We mature with the damage, not with the years." - Mateus William<br/>In which Cullen and Dorian heal through an unlikely friendship, with inner-confrontations, realizations, and hard truths along the way. Camaraderie and recovery are at the forefront, until romance takes the lead. If you like novel-length slow-burns with lots of world building, then this is the fic for you.<br/>Moves from In Hushed Whispers up to Trespasser.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Will Do Better

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This started out as a character study and I wanted to speculate how these characters would grow and change by the events of Inquisition as well as being in proximity of each others' brash opinions and personalities. There will be point of view switching and lots of world-building. I love world-building, especially contemplating on how magic works.  
> Warning: I am writing this for myself and it is absolutely self-indulgent; updates will also be sporadic.
> 
> Special thank you to @rebloom, who offered to beta when they heard what I was up to, and whose offer enabled this fic to actually be posted here, because I would have been content to just keep it secretly on my computer.

It was beautiful, in a way. The same way a devastating storm is beautiful; the same way the glow of blue in a bottle could be beautiful. But dangerous - always dangerous. It was the beauty of magic that gave credit to its danger. That was what the Breach meant for those who could stare directly at that gaping maw. 

Would that they might have gone to Therinfal Redoubt instead, but Trevelyan was adamant to follow the Tevinter mage to the lair of a Tevinter Magister. Uncontrollable flow of magic, demons, and even talk of time magic - all what the veil had kept away from the natural world. And now? 

 

The clash of metal on metal had become the white noise of Haven. The recruits trained rigorously, not sure what they would face when Trevelyan came back. Without Cassandra’s reassuring presence, Cullen kept his thoughts inwards. Reports were pushed in front of him. He signed. His hands shook. He watched. He instructed. The Breach continued its widening gyre of green haze and all they could do was wait for news. 

To anyone who observed, Cullen might have seem irritated, but it was nerves that kept the blade active. It wasn’t for practice as much as muscle memory - Down, adjacent, slicing up, slicing through, switch hands, hacking, hacking, hacking away. He had to do better, always.

He had always taken pleasure in the intense training of the Templar order; the way it felt to be truly good at something difficult. He ran and slashed and sparred until his body burned, but it was not the building burn of a kindling fire; rather the burning oil of a lantern that would eventually run out. At first he blamed his age and the years of harsh routines, but this was an ache that was becoming familiar to him now. An endless thirst that came in waves to knock him down.  _ I will do better; I will do more than I did for them. _ Some days were better than others. Good days meant a good catch of his breath, bad days meant leaving drills immediately to sit down privately before he might vomit from the pain. Cassandra could tell when he wasn't up to standard; She'd give him a look, but she knew his pride. Even as his body rebelled, his resolve grew stronger in the aftermath of the Divine’s death.

There wasn't enough information about lyrium withdrawals to know whether he could truly make it out alive. He could feel the pull in his veins, where he used to draw from the lyrium, where his body instinctively reached for it, and it hurt every time when mere memory and muscle and blood had to fight instead of opening to that flowing energy. It was everything that he had ever been.

The lyrium was still in his body, he knew. For almost two decades it had soaked into him, became a part of him, and traces of it slicked the walls of an empty well within him. As he watched the former templars practice with targets or on the training ground, he could see in their faces the satisfaction of a well placed smite; of wielding a power that made them better than the average warrior. He remembered. He had been exceptional. Somehow he knew, as his body strained, that the templar powers would leave.

He was risking so much, but if he were to die, he was determined to die a better man. If he could last – If he could just last until the Inquisition's business was done. . . That's all any of this was about. He would endure, if it meant giving Trevelyan more time.

“Ser?”

Cullen stopped, and the breath came to him. He looked from the runner and then back to the dummy. There wasn’t much left of it. He lowered his sword.

“Yes?”

“Only a quick message from Sister Nightingale that the Herald is returning, mages marching with him.”

“So soon?”

“As she says, ser.”

A few heads turned at the news, already a wave of discomfort being murmured. The runner had not spoken loudly, but information was always on the move in whispers. Word of more mages would make the recruits nervous, and he knew they looked to him as a local for a sense of balance. Perhaps they expected him to stand up to the decision. 

“Then we will greet them.”

“Ser.”

  
  
  


~

 

When Trevelyan returned with the mages, Cullen felt the magical presence like rising water. The mages were their allies now. . . but with the Breach so close? The Veil torn open? There were demons on their doorstep and they were all so susceptible – _Stop it_. He shouldn't think about _when_ as much as _if_. _If_ they were able to keep control. It was risky, too risky, and he had to say so, but Cassandra’s steady reasoning rang true. His knee-jerk reactions were swallowed down, and as he had said, he would welcome them.

But now the mage – Dorian Pavus - planned to stay. It was his "duty," he had said, not to let that future come to pass. Cullen lost a night of sleep over it; Time Magic. So it really was possible. Dorian and the Herald shared that it was possible because of the outpouring of magic from the Breach. All the more reason to close it as soon as possible.

 

When he went to get fresh air, Varric gave a look of mock intimidation. "You're looking more grim than a golem, Curly."

But Cullen's face was turned towards the swirling green maelstrom in the sky.

"I'm guessing all the extra mages around aren't making you feel any better either." Cullen turned his face downwards to Varric's eyes when he said the words. He couldn't tell whether he was being genuine or marking upon his biases. Varric was one to roll with the punches and they had fought Meredith together, but his friend, the Champion of Kirkwall, had been a mage running from people like Cullen her entire life. Rather than raise his hackles, Cullen sighed and looked back on the breach. "The sooner this is handled the better."

"I hear you. Drinks later? Oh come on, don't give me that look. Even the Inquisition's Commander needs to relax once in awhile. Otherwise, we'll forget he's human."

Habit wanted to answer for him, say,  _ No, I have too much to do. _

"I think I'll take you up on that."

"Good! I'm going to try and get Blackwall in on it too."

  
  


~

 

Nestled into the short rock-face and piled up to the sides with snow was one warm and well-lit place to feel safer about the massive green rip in the sky. The tavern was where both tales and ale flowed freely and one could pretend that things were normal for a little while. The door opened to the cheerful gatherings of people and closed to keep it in.

"He said he was used to the weight from carrying his twin girls around before he joined. Andrei really picked up his swing though. Even archers should know a basic sword regimen, so - "

Varric interrupted with a sigh and a smile. "No offense, Curly, but I'm sorry I asked. Hey Boss." Korvyn Trevelyan approached the table of men with a wave. He had cleaned up from the earlier trip, looking for some downtime. 

Blackwall grinned. "If you ever want to know any of your recruit's great aunt's maiden names, your Commander here will know."

"Isn't that a job for Leliana?" Korvyn responded, raising his eyebrow at Cullen.

"Charm over subterfuge I guess?" Varric joined in.

"I have a genuine interest."

"Nah, I like the recruits too, and it's good that you actually listen to them; they'll like that. A little standoffish to me though."

"They respect a Grey Warden." Cullen told Blackwall.

"You're just as standoffish," Korvyn said. "Does your sword need that much sharpening at the smith?"

"I suppose I could try to mingle a little more. Have a seat, Herald?"

"Actually, I'm here to grab Cullen for a moment?"

"Of course."

  
  


Korvyn lead Cullen to two chairs facing the fire. They both got comfortable, but Trevelyan leaned a bit forward onto his knees.

"Are you all right? Perhaps you should be resting."

"Yes, I'm fine. About Redcliff - Dorian and I were only able to give an abridged version with everything happening so quickly. I'll write up a full report instead of the quick stuff, but I wanted to talk a bit while it's fresh in my mind." Korvyn moved his gaze from Cullen to the gripped fist he habitually flexed. Even in the firelight, his eyes struck out acid green like the mark on his hand. Cullen moved forward to hear his lowered voice.

"It was only an instant for the people in the room, but Dorian and I had been gone for hours, perhaps even most of a day. When I reported a 'large presence of red lyrium in every room,' I meant it. It was. . . bursting out of the walls – out of people. Massive pillars of raw crystal. It was bad.

“But in the future, it was all Venatori. They may be only a cult now, but with that kind of power – this Elder One is preparing for something much larger than that, and. . . they were all devoted. He was the new god in that future.“ He shook his head, holding the Anchor with his other hand. "The Divine's death, the hole in the sky, and what we saw in the future is all related."

"The Magister was part of the plot to kill the Divine."

"Alexius was just a tool; an experiment after the fact. The time magic can't penetrate a time before the breach happened. He said to me, 'You're nothing but a mistake.'" Cullen looked to the Anchor now, too. It moved and rippled over the dark skin and gauntlets like vapor. "The Anchor and the killing of Justinia is all linked to the Venatori. And this Anchor is just some . . . side effect of what? A spell gone wrong? If I came out of the Fade, it does reek of magisters. Maybe they were the ones trying to get back into the Fade again for some sinister reason. To what – start another Blight?"

They both sat with their thoughts for a moment. "They say there was a woman beside you."

"Yes." Korvyn agreed. "Were you hoping it was Andraste?"

Cullen laced his own fingers in thought. 

With the power vacuum that was Divine Justinia's death in the midst of Orlais' civil war and the rogue templar/mage battles in the countryside, the Herald seemed to bring the simple clarity of Maker ordained providence. To others, Korvyn Trevelyan held a powerful mark, wherever it came from, and Maker ordained or not, had a better chance of fixing the immediate problem than anyone else. They had a common cause of sealing the Breach and fighting off demons for the rest of the world, putting their lives on the line in the name of Divine Justinia and the Inquisition. With this sense of camaraderie, it was easier for the recruits to get along. Though, Cullen suspected, as allies became complicated with more than just Fereldens, there may be some turns. Until now, he just had to worry about them swinging their swords in the right direction. Did he hope for a sign from the Maker; a sign that was more tangible than any Chantry rhetoric that spoke for Him? Yes, he did, but it was easier to expect disappointment. "I don't know what to think about it, truly. You don't think it was?"

"I had thought it was ridiculous - that maybe everyone including myself was wrong about there even being a woman. But if it was the fade, it may have been a spirit. I'm really wondering now. I've never been devout, but. . ." Korvyn finally leaned back into the chair. "I don't know. I feel like there's never any time to process any of this. One thing is crossed of the list, and another comes up in its place."

Cullen put a hand to Korvyn's shoulder. "That's the responsibility of leadership, I'm afraid." he added gently.

"And if I'm not the Herald? What qualifications do I have for any of this? This power?" he asked, displaying his hand. It was faintly veined in green now, but not glowing and pulsing as he had seen it before. Trevelyan clenched his hand open and closed.

"Does it pain you?"

"A bit. Sometimes. Closing rifts does."

"If this Elder One has influence over one magister, I fear the influence can spread. Especially if, like you said about the future, he’s assumed the position of godhood with Venatori servants."

"We really need to know more about this Venatori influence, and I hope Dorian may be able to help there. And I wonder if Varric would have anything to say about the red lyrium, but part of me wonders if it’s worth worrying him about." Korvyn sat up from his slump and shook his head. He could so easily slip on a smile. "Sorry, I didn't mean to dump all of this onto you, but I have a lot on my mind. I should also talk about it with Leliana."

"I'm your adviser; I'm glad you stopped by. You should speak with Josephine as well."

"Yeah . . . Though as a diplomat, I do sometimes wonder if she might not just tell me what I want to hear."

"To everyone else, maybe, but she can be incredibly sincere, especially to you."

"All right. Thank you, Cullen." Korvyn watched on as Cullen nodded to him, and he stood up. There was some mischief in the way Korvyn looked at him sometimes, but Cullen brushed it off.

"Also, you might want to meet with our new resident mages. Madam de Fer has. . . interesting political ideas. She's highly respected; I'd like to know more about her. She's a Knight-Enchanter."

Cullen’s eyes widened, but Korvyn hadn't noticed. "And Dorian of course. I know you don't seem to like him, but he's quite, well, playful. And very intelligent. He knows so much about techniques outside of Circle life, but still has a different approach than Solas." Korvyn examined some of the burn-holes on his sleeve. "I know you're busy, but also it might look good, you know, to see you getting on better with mages." Cullen opened his mouth to reply, but found himself closing it. He was right, of course. At the look on his face, Korvyn rambled on. "I don't mean it like – I mean, don't worry, I don't take it personally. I'm wary of magic too, and I'm the one who can shoot it out of my hands. Anyway, " Korvyn scratched his hair before starting to take his leave. "I'll leave you to your work. Or, your socializing."

 

~

A few days after their return to Haven, Dorian had been trying to soak up as much sun as he could. It was blustery and horridly cold at Haven, but the blue skies, at least, were able to lure him out of the warmth of the indoor fires. He wasn't lying when he called the south "charming and rustic;" it was untouched and beautifully wild in many aspects. But it was also overwhelmingly uncultivated, unpopulated, un-washed, uneducated, and, outside cities, un-lavitorial. But he had become swept up in the whole affair because, well, it was the right thing to do. This was magic phenomena unlike any he'd seen before; it would no doubt become historic if not more cataclysmic than it already was.

The potential research was fascinating. He was caught up in enough theory and reading as many reports that he was allowed to get his hands on that he didn't even mind  how much gossip was fluttering around about him. He had to admire, at least, how brazen Southerners allowed themselves to be. He had been told more times to “Fuck off,” in a day at Redcliff than any other time in his life. Compared to the subtle deceit and months of planning that others did to try and ensure his downfall, it was almost refreshing.

Fortunately, Korvyn decided to surprise Dorian in his outdoor reverie, though not for any sort of report or Tevinter inquiries like usual. Dorian was finding him to be very conversational and today he had magic on the mind. It had Solas sending over the occasional smirk, but it was hard to tell with him whether it was out of approval or sarcasm. Dorian thought he might do well in Orlais.

"So controlling glyph radius is . .?" Korvyn asked, gesturing his hands around as he spoke. 

"Mana."

"But to burn hotter is?"

"Technique"

"But  _ how _ is that technique?" Korvyn squinted in a funny way and shook his head."Can't that be countered? Using more mana to compensate?"

"Look, you can rein in more mana if you want, it will only make a glyph larger, more precise or last longer, not more elementally powerful. Too much magic would just make it go haywire. "

"See, I was taught to use only what is practical in order to save mana. I never thought about  _ too much _ mana."

"Well, you're pulling from the Fade what you know. Glyphs are so formulaic that you're working with something secure. A jeweler shaping a gem can cut it as she likes, but the gem isn't changed. It just becomes a very pretty gem." Dorian shrugged. "As for technique, that's how you ornament it. But glyphwork isn't for everyone."

"I don't mind it, actually. But, you mean using an outside element? If I add more air it will burn hotter."

"And quicker."

"Then isn't that adding more mana?"

"Not if it's redirected air."

" . . . I like that."

Dorian couldn't help but to smile at Korvyn's inquisitiveness. He had become so used to working alongside assistants who could keep up with his banter about magic that the young Herald reacquainted him with new ways of considering what he knew and how to explain it. Though now an official member of the Inquisition's inner circle, Dorian was still given a very wide berth that he wasn't quite used to. He had spoken a little with Varric, Sera, and the other mages, but Korvyn always came to check in on him or ask questions like a student. Well, he had said he was only recently from Ostwick Circle.

"Okay, I've been thinking about this one. A longer fade-step."

"What do you think?"

"It can't be technique."

"Oh? Why do you think that?"

"Because fade-step is only half-method, and the rest is mana poured in."

"But there's more than one way to fade-step!"

"Yeah, but the principle is the same, isn’t it?"

"My dear Herald, it'd be as simple as focusing on the step itself instead of the destination. It's all technique."

Korvyn gave him a disbelieving look, that morphed into one of excitement as he added, "Okay, hear me out – Something like a Wall of Fire as a trail from where I fade-step?"

" _ Now _ you're thinking outside the circle."

Korvyn smiled. "I'll work on that one."

Dorian chuckled back at that. "Is everyone aghast that the supposed Herald of Andraste is a mage bent on destruction?"

"Probably."

"And he doesn't deny it. You've given more to talk about in an hour than I have in a day."

He had said it as a thank you, but Korvyn sat up a little. "Are the others snubbing you?"

"Oh, you know how it is." Dorian brushed it off with his usual smile. "They see me as I am without the colorful in-betweens."

"I thought the mages might be clamoring for some different perspectives of magic, like me."

"I expect they're a bit tired of Tevinters."

"And there's southern prejudice, I guess. I admit it's almost a little embarrassing how little some of us know." The way Korvyn stayed humble reminded Dorian so much of Felix.

"I have several years more education, so comparing yourself is hardly something to be embarrassed about."

"Is it strange being around Southerners?"

"Only as strange as being around dwarves, who are also quite blunt with their thoughts. It's. . . unusual. But Free Marchers like yourself are not so different from mixing with Soparati as well. I'm just used to high politics. Threats are subtle and said with a smile, rather than as open tavern insults with axes drawn."

"Fereldens are even worse. Honesty shows trust and honor. Knightly kinship and all that. I like it though; I've always been a terrible liar anyway."

"And yet you're still smack-dab in politics."

"Speaking of Fereldens, I have a proposition for you. " Dorian raised an eyebrow and Korvyn gave a comedic sigh. "Not like that, obviously. I was thinking of having you and the other mages work with my Commander."

"Your Commander?"

"Yes, you know. Tall, blond, handsome. Has a scar on his lip and looks very broody."

"Ah yes, the cheery one. I knew who you meant, I was wondering why."

"Well, we have quite a good balance of mages and blades now. Cullen can't teach the other half."

"Hmm."

"They're Circle mages  _ and _ apostates; they need it. Plus, you've shown me how you can explain things so easily."

"Considering my incentive is to live and have the best means possible to close the giant demon-well in the sky, I'd say it's a good plan. And what about Solas and Madame de Fer? Are they in on it?"

"I'm pretty sure they will be, though I haven’t exactly . . . asked yet. Incentive. Like you said." Trevelyan stretched out his arms and back. "Talk to Cullen about it too."

"Ah yes, the Tevinter mage talking to a southern templar. That can't go wrong."

"Ex-templar. I wouldn't throw you to the wolves, Dorian."

"That fur mantle suggests otherwise."

"You both value hard work - that's a solid foundation in partnership. Incentive, remember?"

Dorian gave a noncommittal hum at the idea of approaching the Commander.

"Okay, but here's another idea. What about  _ fewer _ but  _ stronger _ hits of an energy barrage?"

  



	2. A Collaboration

It was the sickness that woke Cullen in the dead of night; an uneasiness in the stomach not unlike spoiled food, and he knew another attack was coming. It was a visitor that came with swift nausea and a spike of anxiety, but his hazy mind knew what it was. He could only brace himself for what came next. Pain would throb behind his eyes, challenging him to keep down the contents of his stomach. A feverish wash of heat would sweep through him, though his body would shiver as well as sweat. When the headache became a slow throb, the pain would spread out evenly to his muscles, seizing up or cramping, _thirsty, so thirsty,_ but not for any stream. He had little choice but to wait it out, coiled up on himself in bed and trying to stay calm through the phases that had become so familiar.

_You can make it stop right now. You can stop this charade and it will be like this suffering had never happened._

  
No, not again. He would not take it for them. They did not speak for the Maker or Andraste. It had made him just another tool to be used.

  
_So be used. Be used for the Inquisition._

  
Cullen could barely suppress the groan of pain from his throat. And here was the worst part: the persuasion. He tried to personify the thoughts that tempted him to lyrium and make it into a figure he could hate; but those thoughts were in his voice, his head, and knew him as much as he knew himself. Knew the tricks, knew the weaknesses, and knew the wounds to press.

  
He would say no. He would say no even when he became convinced it was a terrible idea to do so, because he knew also, after every time, he was glad that he had. Then fatigue would come - the body still aching after hours of restlessness but mostly tired, mental exhaustion dispelling any reasoning or self-hatred. With the strength he would muster, a hand would go down to pick up the blankets and furs that had been tossed off in the spell of heat, and the heavy pressure could comfort him, securing him in place. He would still shiver, even as the symptoms subsided, but his mind wandered to that in-between place of sleep and awake, calming his mind, even without properly giving rest. It would be early morning by the time Cullen felt slightly more like himself.

  
He would tremble for hours yet, senses overwhelmed by even ambient noise and the only cure was to focus on one sound - He must go to the chapel and pray. After toweling off with frightfully cold water, he dressed. The armor was comfortably heavy; a weight that grounded him away from delusions of who he was. His armor and his duty were one and the same. With his fur cloak on, he went out to the quiet snow, where his trembling could be mistaken for early chill, and dragged his body to the chantry.  
He went to the Eternal Flame first and let the warmth wash away any uneasiness that still crept in dark corners of his mind. The heat soaked into his skin, helping with the muscle ache, and soothing a restless mind. He didn't move until he felt calmer, and fell to his knees before Andraste. There were a few candles lit, some from a night vigil, perhaps, or from other early risers. The light and shadows rose in great streaks up the Idol's face, lending dramatic authority that felt comforting in his submission. Cullen felt more inclined to plead when he visited this time of morning.

  
He would try to be strong, like her. The perseverance for leadership, the persona of strength and assurance that could be worn so often that it become a part of himself. He needed it - not for the templars anymore, but for the Inquisition. He asked for guidance; to listen not to his own instincts but to the generous and skilled minds of those around him. It was hard to do, sometimes, when advisors had different opinions and strategies, but he had to be open-minded for anything to work in such extraordinary circumstances.

  
Then, as a good Andrastian should, he prayed for repentance. He could still hear screams in the night, and he would always hear more after. At first, he prayed for them to stop for his own comfort, but not any more. _They aren't your enemy._ Who were they? Were they okay now? Were they dead? Were they the mages he had killed; the souls of those trapped because a demon had taken control? Or were they the comrades who died from his failures? The friends struck down in the tower as he watched? Cullen still shook under Andraste’s calm demeanor. He could only hope that one day he would find peace in the Maker's light. _I took it. I used it. I liked it. I deserve this._ It was proper; it was due. With this, he could try to accept this sickness as a part of his life now. His knees started to ache on the stone floor, but all the better. _I deserve this. I deserve this. I will do better._

  
After praying intently, he let the calm come to his mind; a morning meditation until the trembling stopped completely. He visited the Eternal Flame again to compose himself before going to breakfast and morning drills. The sisters and a few other pious recruits were used to seeing him there, and moved in to replace candles when he left.

 

It always felt quieter while Trevelyan was absent. The man himself was not often found idle, and his presence had most people on their feet either to help him or to show respect. It was another cold morning, active by first light, but the Herald must be sleeping in. Horses were trotted out for exercise, heavy boots kicked up slushy trails in the snow, and there were the ever-present white breaths of his allies. The smith was at work, clanging away in measured beats, and recruits chattered quietly as they pulled on armor.

  
"Commander." The recruits who had been waiting idly came to attention and addressed him as he approached. When Cullen walked the distance to greet them through the gate, many nodded or addressed him in passing. His own title was a little new to him, but he wore the authority like an old coat. It felt nice to be greeted by people of every type, rather than templars who had a duty to do so. The newer recruits were set up for basic exercises while others were set in for rougher sparring. Cullen enjoyed this part of the day especially; to be out in the mounta

in air and instructing in a way that was easy to his mind and lips, rather than constructing words on paper. Cassandra was back to help as well, which always eased his mind.  
A runner had him signing a quick, blotchy signature when a wavering voice came from behind him.

  
"Commander Rutherford? Ser?"

  
Cullen turned to a see a young man waiting to be addressed. "Yes?"

  
“I’m Dale Turner, Ser.”

  
“Private Turner, how can I help you?”

  
"Ser, I was wondering – er, are we going to use any sort of Templar techniques – that is," He stood up straighter, collecting himself. "My own sister was a templar, ser, and I know that you were Knight-Captain in Kirkwall; they're considered the best soldiers even though, well, even though we fight them, and. . ."

  
"Absolutely," Cullen said. "Even before initiation, templars are trained fighters; training I am determined to pass on to Inquisition recruits like yourself.” Turner nodded as he listened. “ We will be seeing templars in the field, no doubt, and while they're primarily trained for Circle life, we can have a fair advantage if we share their techniques, as well as provide our own variety."

  
". . . though I have heard of templars having special abilities. To stop mages."

  
Cullen's face fell to stoicness like a blanket of snow. "What you learn here will be capable of stopping any opponent."

  
"Ser."

  
"Your sister was a templar?"

  
"Yes, in Ostwick. I've tried to get her to come south; see the Inquisition for herself. No letter back yet though. Ser."

  
Cullen nodded to the recruit. He probably wanted the same strength she could boast, though without contact, she was probably in hot water somewhere. Any templars avoiding battle would be scrambling to known families for support. "I'm sure she would be a valuable ally. In the meantime, be familiar with your basics, and soon you'll be holding your own."

  
"Ser." Turner put his fist over his heart and left.

  
Cullen turned to the frozen lake, cool wisps of wind rising up to meet those training on the shore. It was a warm day, considering the season.

  
"Lieutenant."

  
"Ser."

  
"Let's have a 15 minute break, then we'll run a few laps around the lake before lunch."

  
"The mages, too, Commander?"

  
"They won't be exempt. They're recruits too, now."

  
The woman nodded before turning around to call command. Cullen would run with them. They needed all the training they could get against the open door of demons staring them down. Keep moving. Always moving.

 

 

The sound of call-response exercising was what kept Dorian from sleeping in until midday. It was still unusual to wake and have to orient himself to the surroundings of a military operation. Well, it was more than that, but they had growing forces of a small army and it made Dorian contemplate what part he played in all of this. The sight of the Frostbacks from the window, the southern lilt on the ear, the metal clank of armor and, of course, the green energy maelstrom in the sky all made it so real - that he was here, at Haven, no doubt a part of history in the making. When people heard back home. . . he would be considered a traitor for joining the Inquisition, something a Tevinter had no business being a part in. Well, the Venatori had made it his business.

  
As he rose and dressed himself, the chill of mountain air and birdsong made itself known from directly outside his window and cemented him to this present, so far from warm breezes and street-bustle. There was that atmosphere in nature that left him in unease, when he was so used to the different noises of the largest city in Thedas. It was so wide and open out here. One could become small. Unimportant. A casual death from a falling rock. Or from something as arbitrary as bandits. Or darkspawn. Preposterous. It forced one’s mind to wander when he had too much to do, or else when he finished he preferred to distract it with conversation.

  
Though, as much as people eyed him, he got to be the mysterious foreigner, and wasn’t that a bit fun? Their ranks were filling up with new people every day, it seemed. With everyone caught up in different assignments, he hadn’t had the chance to meet all of them, though he had been curious about the Knight-Enchanter. She was greatly respected, even as a Circle loyalist in this chaos, and he wondered if it wasn’t rank rather than politics that granted apostates alike to avert their eyes. They had only brief introductions when Dorian arrived, but her distaste at the arrival with rebel mages gave them only quick exchanges and little more.

  
He wondered if it wasn’t possible to hear her side of how Circles ought to work without stabbing words, but he hadn’t tried. It was when he was passing the apothecary that he found himself with the opportunity.

  
“That won’t do,” he heard in that smooth, precise tone. “Dawn Lotus is the only ingredient to make this acceptable. Any substitutes are sub-standard.”

  
“That shipment is late, my lady.” Adan said under some strain.

  
“Incidentally,” Dorian said “They may have some in the kitchens.” They both turned as he lounged at the open door. Madame Vivienne was not disturbed by his entrance, but looked at him and arched a manicured brow as if to say _They eat Dawn Lotus here_?

  
Dorian cocked his head with a grin to indicate _Yes, they_ are _this unfortunate_.

  
“That’s true,” Adan said, unaware of the unspoken conversation. “Since you’re pressed for time, the kitchen wares may be the best option.”

  
“Very well, my dear, I’ll see to it myself,” she answered with soft conclusion and a twirl of silver robes.

  
Though she gave no indication for Dorian to follow, he knew that it was welcome as etiquette. She opened her left hand just as he offered his arm and a balance was established. They only walked closely to speak without being overheard; both of them were veterans of court protocol.

  
“I presume our dear Herald has spoken to you about training apostates.”

  
“Is that what they are?” Dorian answered with a smile. The way she cut to the subject reminded him so very much of his mother. “I thought they were refugees.”

  
“Don’t be absurd,” she dismissed softly. “If Trevelyan wants their cooperation, he’ll also need control. Cullen doesn’t have enough templars to temper that down.”  
“All the more reason they would need guidance from fellow mages, wouldn’t you agree?”

  
They struck quite a pair as they walked through the snowy paths towards the stores. They were observed by those they passed, as they stood out as figures of good breeding and cultivated elegance plopped into the middle of the country-side.

  
“All the guidance in the world won’t stop the aggressive nature of the Breach on us, my dear. As long as it’s open, we’re all at dangerous risk.”

  
“You fear abominations?”

  
“It will happen.”

  
“The rampant fear of possession in the south makes me wonder how much control the Circles really had.”

  
“And Tevinter is much better?” She reflected Dorian’s artificial smile back to him. “We go through our Harrowings for a reason.”

  
“I’m starting to think our Harrowings were quite different.”

  
Vivienne became conveniently quiet as they reached their destination. She casually asked for the Dawn Lotus with assertiveness that left no room for refusal.  
“If you knew what the southern templars were capable of, you wouldn’t brush them off so easily. Something to consider, my dear.”

 

After another day of mages acclimating to new training, intermingling with recruits was more noticeable. Mixing at meals was common, and for a small army that had been mostly isolated from mages to suddenly be equally numbered by them as allies, they had little choice but to reassess their prejudices. Some laughed with them at the fireside, most gave small talk and curt nods, but with Korvyn as their figurehead, they were all tolerant.

  
At least they behaved as though they were.  
A disturbance was catching attention as raised heads moved to look at Cassandra trying to handle a mage who was raising her voice. Very few were used to seeing anyone speak to the Seeker in such a way, Cullen included. He went to investigate immediately, but as soon as he approached, the woman was utterly affronted, and scrutinized his face. " - and I will not serve under this man. Absolutely not."

  
"Is there a problem?" He asked.

  
"It's bad enough seeing templars bossing mages around again, talking down to me like I’ve no right to walk freely, and here is the _Knight-Captain himself_?"

  
Cassandra opened her mouth to defend him, he knew, but he ignored the jab. "Who has been giving you problems?"

  
The mage closed her mouth for a moment and narrowed her eyes. She seemed calmer at being addressed, and swiped some dark hair from a slightly wrinkled brow. “He was aggressive with me when he thought a spell was too close to the recruits and got in my face about it. I thought he was going to put hands on me before the Seeker intervened. It was unnecessary hostility. He was a tall man in templar armor. He had longer brown hair with gray in it. ”

  
"Him again. I'll have a word."

  
"’ _Again?_ ’ I'm afraid a 'word' won't be enough, ser. I've suffered templars long enough in the Circle. I understand what the Inquisition is doing but I don't know if I can stomach this." She folded her arms and looked between Cassandra and Cullen. “Are we free to roam here? Because having templars looming nearby to watch us doesn’t feel very liberating.”

  
"No one here is a templar any longer. The Inquisition is focused on the Breach first and foremost and there's no time for in-fighting."

  
"With all due respect, that's easier for a man of your position to say. I suppose they're here to watch us from becoming abominations?" She scoffed. " _I was in the Kirkwall Circle._ I remember you, and the Knight-Commander, though I was one of many mages who tried her best not to be noticed - to be as small as possible. I remember what kind of life I used to live - I haven’t the privilege to forget it. When the Circle collapsed, I've had to run ever since. I hoped the Inquisition would offer protection, but I see, even here, a mage does not get to forget where they stand in society."

  
There was a small crowd conveniently stopping to hear, pretending they weren’t straining their ears. The mages were mostly trying to fit in, and this was probably some of the first bit of soap-boxing they had ever experienced; all the more scandalous to hear directed at their Commander.

  
As Cullen processed her words, Cassandra replied with level understanding, though loud enough to be overheard. "The Herald himself is a mage, and he has welcomed you as an ally. Anyone speaking against mages also speaks against him and has no place here." She folded her arms and did not waver. "The Commander is no longer part of the Order, and the Herald trusts him."

  
Cullen waved off the defense but kept his voice lower to address the mage directly. "You're not required to stay, but it will be safer here for you. If you run into any more trouble with recruits, you can tell me and I'll deal with them directly." She peered into Cullen's face, and seemed to inhale slowly, looking him up and down for traces of dishonesty.  
"Can you promise me there won’t be another time?"

  
How could anyone predict such a thing? To anyone listening it may have seemed like a plea for peace - a promise to do his best, but, no, the conviction in her voice made it a direct challenge. She was asking: Could he allow insubordination in even one of his recruits? Could he make the ranks of the Inquisition safe for mages? The answer to the former was the answer of the latter. There was no room for hoping people would stay in line, there was only his responsibility for their behavior. He had been worrying about mages keeping control, when it was the usual prejudice showing itself in Circle rhetoric. He would keep them to standard.

  
“You have my word.”

  
It wasn’t possible to tell if she knew the significance of this statement, but her posture relaxed. “Very well. It will be interesting to see how the Inquisition maneuvers.” She did not bow her head, but flicked her eyes over them with a cooler gaze holding her arms to herself as she left them. Cassandra looked to Cullen for a comment, but he had none to give. He turned before they might discuss it further.

 

It was a matter of time before the Herald came by to check on them, as was his usual dues, and he did so only a few hours later.

  
"Commander."

  
"Your Worship." Trevelyan still stiffened at the title, but didn't disprove. They maintained a formal presence in front of the recruits. The snow was feathery light as it floated around the moving bodies of those sparring. Korvyn motioned to the side where they might speak, and Cullen followed.

  
"How are your recruits holding up?"

  
"Quite well. There was trepidation about the mages, but now they're training side-by-side, though not together."

  
"Any problems?"

  
"There is. . . the issue of their integration within the ranks. Many joined the Inquisition as a means to find peace in this war, though some see peace as possible through the Inquisition further disbanding any Circles, while others hope we rebuild them. There are ex-templars and mages who are Loyalists while others are not, and as you can imagine the political differences affect their interactions. There is mingling within the camps and while I usually encourage any healthy debate, for many, the deaths of their friends and family is all too near and there is unrest."

  
"I see." Korvyn sighed.

  
"I have it under control, Herald.” He would. He must. “They may yet need to see themselves as one unit for one cause like they had before."

  
Korvyn gave a half-smile. "Always on top of your game, Commander. It's a good idea; perhaps I'll swing by sometime to give them that encouragement they need." It wasn't what Cullen had expected, but he would take the offer.

  
"Is there anything else you need to know?" 

  
"Yes, well, I was thinking . . .of a collaboration."

  
"Collaboration? You mean with you? And the mages?"

  
Korvyn bowed his head for a moment and it swung back up. "Not entirely; considering I'm gone from Haven more often than I'm here. I'm returning to the Hinterlands for those last few rifts, as you know. The mages will need to prepare for closing the Breach, but they'll also need to prepare with whatever comes with that. I've been talking with Dorian and Solas about the idea and they seem interested. In helping, I mean. They're both apostates – well, Dorian isn't really – but they were raised differently in terms of magic; far more different from what I ever learned in the Circle, and I think it could be a good advantage to have these more varied styles. I spoke to Madame Vivienne too, but sometimes I’m not sure if she’s sarcastic or not so I have her as a ‘maybe.’" Korvyn paused a moment, perhaps to let Cullen digest his meaning or give approval. He had a way of tilting his head as if he had asked a question when he was waiting for a reaction.

  
"It. . . could be very beneficial, yes." Cullen wasn't sure what to say. It seemed a good idea, but he also hadn't seen the stronger mages fight firsthand. Trevelyan had, so surely he trusted their fighting abilities and saw value in their skill. Yes, they would be fighting apostates as well, so to learn how to fight with and against new types of casting would be optimal.

  
"I knew you'd get it. I'm taking Solas and Vivienne with me, so Dorian will start up with them first. And I know that there may be some backlash on the offset," Korvyn rolled his eyes, "Tevinter mage and all, as everyone likes to drag up. But hopefully it will be curiosity more than anything that draws them to him to give them a lesson. He, Solas, and Vivienne are the most advanced mages here; Dorian and Vivienne just have the actual credentials."  
"Don't sell yourself short."

  
"I'm not! But I'll be up to their level eventually. Well, I mean, I must, if we're going to. . .” He brushed the flakes of snow from his hair with his gloved hands. “Anyhow, his schedule will be rotated to yours, so when you have time, drop by and arrange some plans."

  
"Of course."

  
Korvyn could perhaps see the reservation on his face. "Don't worry. You may clash a little in personality, but you're both serious enough about your respective skills. You'll get some great work done. And then Solas can trade off. You'll need to warn your lieutenants as well."

  
"Understood." Cullen didn’t think much of the Tevinter. Dramatics didn't trouble Cullen's Fereldan sensibilities, but the swagger did.

  
"Keep up the good work." And again, Korvyn was running off to do something else, footsteps crunching in the snow. Cullen wasn’t quite sure where he got the energy, but there was some part of him that sympathized. They all tried to stay busy to keep other thoughts at bay.

 

Though some kept busier than others.  
By the time the sun began to sink and he had spoken with recruits over a fireside dinner, he thought it best to get the meeting out of the way. He wasn't sure where to check, except for the usual haunt of Haven. A warm gust of air rushed over Cullen as he opened the tavern door.

  
"Curly! Didn’t expect you to come uninvited!"

  
Varric had seen Cullen before Cullen had a time to orient himself. The small area was saturated in the orange light of the fires and the warm air was filled with more murmured chatter than usual. He turned to see where Varric had called to him and saw him at a table with the very mage he had been looking for. Over the week, Varric had continued making a valiant effort to chat Cullen up for conversation, and had succeeded a few times - barring no mention of work. He had told Cullen that it was unhealthy to have such a serious expression all of the time, and Cullen, who normally wasn't moved by accusations of seriousness, found a strange need to prove that he could still form bonds with people outside of business. So he had spoken with Varric and found the storyteller easy to joke and laugh, putting Cullen at ease. He approached the table to see Varric with an almost-empty tankard with Ser Pavus observing the Commander as he approached.

  
"Good evening," Cullen started.

  
"And getting better." The Tevinter started bantering right away, chin in hand. "Can it be that our illustrious Commander is taking a break from work?"

  
"And with us rabble no less." Varric added.

  
"It's been known to happen." He smiled to Varric, whom he hadn’t expected to have taken Dorian’s side of the banter, and took a seat. "I was in fact looking for Ser Pavus."

  
"I'll thank you to call me 'Dorian,' Commander; No need to be so formal." Varric was rolling his eyes, but Cullen wasn't sure why. "To what do I owe this visit?"

  
"I don't mean to disturb-"

  
"Oh, go on, Curly."

  
"The Herald had mentioned a collaboration in the troops. Because the recruits are currently separated by ability, there's a good chance we can-"

  
Varric stood up lazily. "Aaaaand, I'm getting another drink. I'm not going to be here a second longer when I hear the word 'recruit' from your mouth."

  
"I wasn't about to go on a tangent!"

  
"Anything about duties in a tavern _is_ a tangent!"

  
"Oh, work, is it?" Dorian smiled to him with a sip of wine.

  
Now that the conversational buffer that was Varric had stood up, Cullen felt the full focus of Dorian to be quite intense. Perhaps being formal would better withstand what he felt to be a strong personality. "Yes," He said lightly. "Trevelyan said he had spoken to you about training the mages."

  
"Tutoring, more like."

  
"You don't mind the idea, I hope?"

  
"I only mind if they mind." he shrugged.

  
"I'll make sure that they don't." Cullen couldn't help but observe the Tevinter now that they faced each other across a table. He was far from home, yet still impeccably well-groomed and shaven. He wore expensive and foreign robes with the utmost comfort, just as well as he reclined in a small southern tavern. They were interesting contrasts. Of course, Cullen had been around strong mages; Grand Enchanters held themselves proudly and with dignity not unlike a soldier. Though Dorian had a different type of strength. The bombasity of his arrival came to mind, but one could see it in the way he presented himself, stood straight-backed but leaned easily. A confidence that was not only gained by contention of skill, but by security as well. He was, most notably, a mage who held himself without fear, neither from templar or fellow mage. A rarity in Ferelden. Dorian's black-rimmed eyes seemed to curiously look him over as well. No doubt many things were strange to him, too. Perhaps to Dorian, there was no deeper meaning behind the flaming sword of Andraste on his gauntlets that he had kept from the Order.

  
"Drink, Commander?"

  
"No, I've still much to do this evening."

  
"That'll just make it more interesting."

  
Cullen spared a smile. "Perhaps another time. I was wondering if you had yet planned how to go about the training."

  
"Another time? I'll hold you to that. But still straight to work, I see. You're a pragmatic man, so let's discuss. What did you have in mind?"

  
"The mages work apart from the others so far, taking direction from their Senior Enchanters. I do think they would benefit from sparring together with non-mages, however, I'll leave it to your discretion to decide when they're ready to do so."

  
"Sounds fun." He took another small sip of wine, barely grimacing at the taste.

  
" . . . Is that all?"

  
Dorian grinned, leaning onto his hand again. "Well, I don't exactly know what I'm dealing with here. Korvyn is a very competent enchanter himself, yet it seems things are very different in southern Circles, and even more so the more south one goes. Such as mages having no physical combat training?"

  
Cullen was taken aback. "No, they haven't."

  
Dorian tsked. "And such rudimentary understandings of theoretical basics, yet our darling Herald wants me to throw them into offensive spell variants so quickly! I regret I'm no natural teacher, nor have the time to build from the bottom to the top. So," he nodded to Cullen, "The first day will be to see what they know so far and act accordingly. I'm good at thinking on my feet, amongst other things. Though I _am_ curious -" He leaned very far forward and Cullen unconsciously leaned a bit back" - about this templar business. Our templars in the Imperium aren't like the ones down here, who seem to have interesting powers of their own."

  
Somehow Cullen wasn't surprised to hear this. Templars in the Imperium were perhaps deprived of techniques up there, just as mages were in the south; to deprive one order of knowledge while the other flourished gave a good indication of who would be wielding the power.

  
"So, while it's all well and good to teach them more offensive techniques, it would be more beneficial to know first-hand how to defend some of these attacks. Like your own."

  
"You. . . want to spar with me?"

  
"Absolutely." Dorian nodded, as if it was a logical conclusion. "You're teaching non-mages techniques against all enemies alike, so naturally _I'll_ teach mages techniques against non-mages and mages alike. While I've already fought my fair share of Venatori, I've yet to be on the other end of a templar attack, and I could barely teach others how to defend against attacks I haven't experienced for myself."

  
"Did I just hear correctly?" asked Varric from behind "That our resident ex-templar and Tevinter mage intend to fight each other?"

  
"Well?" Dorian smiled.

  
Cullen's hand swept over his chin in thought. If Dorian had truly never dealt with a full assault by a southern templar then he would be in for a rude awakening in the field. It would be particularly bad if he was with the Herald when it happened. If these Tevinter mages indeed had their own style, it would invaluable to know against the Ventori.  
"I could set you up with an ex-templar if you really need the experience. Cassandra may be willing to help as well."

  
"Ah, yes, of course, if it's too much for you, Commander, you need only say so."

  
" _'Too much-?_ '"

  
"A substitute will do; Should be easy. You're a valuable asset, so you don't need to be wasting your time." he said, waving his hand with dismissal but a small curve of his mouth was mischievous, and he was letting Cullen see it. He was laying bait. _Bad idea,_ Cullen thought, _Sparring with a mage. It might make recruits take sides._ But it could also show cooperation. _Cooperation would be important,_ he thought, though a small familiar feeling of competition was kindling.

  
". . .Very well. We can spar."

  
"Excellent," Dorian replied, leaning back with crossed arms.

  
"Oh, this is gonna be good. Let me know when, huh? I'll charge admission prices. "

  
"What, no bets?"

  
"Me? I wouldn't dare. " Varric winked to Cullen. "Though I wouldn't know who to choose in any case."

  
"It's purely academic, isn't that right, Commander?"

  
"Oh, but it would be fun to see Curly here knock _you_ down a peg."

  
"He can knock me down any way he'd like."

  
Varric laughed, but Cullen found heat rushing up to his face. He had become used to brash innuendos, but not about himself. No one dared. "It's not - That's - " he coughed. " I've no intention of knocking _anyone_ down." The chuckle from Varric seemed to add an extra layer to the joke. "I mean- We are to demonstrate our skills, not do any level of harm."

  
Dorian's eyebrows had raised considerably, still smirking. "Is that all it takes to throw our Commander off-guard? _Tsk,_ that won't do."

  
Cullen cleared his throat again before standing. "If that's all."

  
"Actually," Dorian added, "If you've anyone of mind who also spars with a staff or spear, let me know, will you?"

  
"That's quite specialized,” Cullen said, trying his best to ignore the incredulous look on Dorian’s face. “But I'll ask around. Do you use more of a halberd or quarterstaff?"

  
"I prefer more of a glaive, actually, but haven't utilized your smith yet. Quarterstaff would be fine."

  
"I think I have a man in mind, though he's not a mage."

  
Dorian lifted one shoulder in defeat as if to say _I suppose that will do_. "Thank you Commander. Have a good evening of . . . more paperwork."

  
"Sure you won't stay for a drink?"

  
"No, thank you, have a good night."

 

"I’m meeting all sorts of new people today," Dorian said to Varric.

  
“Aren’t you popular?”

  
“ _Tragic,_ ” Dorian played up. "So. How is that one? Dangerous?"

  
"He is when you're on the other side of his sword, which, by the way, may be where you just put yourself." Dorian gave a lewd grin, about to start a joke, but Varric snipped it at the bud. " _Don't_ go there. Maker."

  
Dorian gave a small chuckle, somehow overtaken by another loud childish giggle. Dorian looked for the source to see a drunken elf under the table.  
"Good one." Sera said, rolling into his shoes "You didn't say it, but it was still good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strangely, I cannot find a statue of Andraste in the Haven chantry when I play DA:I, so I must assume it would normally be in the room where the war table has taken occupancy. Was it relocated? Anyway, I decided to make it so that in one of the alcoves there's a smaller statuette of Andraste, and the opposite one has a basin/brazier for the Eternal Flame. Artistic liberties!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Purely Academic

The activities of Haven fell back into rhythm with Korvyn’s departure to the Hinterlands, but there was an undercurrent of tension. It was easy to go about routine, but the Breach was an ever-present wound that hovered over their lives; an arbitrary reminder that their attempts at normalcy could be disrupted at any time. It was a chaos that was so intermingled in the social conscious with Korvyn, that when their Herald was there it gave the people some sense of safety. For now, they busied themselves as they waited for his return.

Cullen went about his business, missing Cassandra once more. He was feeling some of his strength return from the aching days of the withdrawal episode, but it wasn’t done with him yet. When a runner had arrived with a small note in precise, elegant handwriting confirming a date and place of meeting, Cullen had to think for a moment  whether his body was up to it. He simply told the runner to tell Dorian “yes” It would be better the mages to start as soon as possible.

There was trepidation clouding his mind about the encounter, despite telling himself that there was no reason for it. The mage had simply wanted to experience a strong templar opponent; that was a fair request. Cullen knew, however, that he wasn’t in top form like he had been with the Order. His swordsmanship had improved in compensation of not using templar powers, which he told himself was a fair deal, though his body disagreed. There was also more social weight behind their sparring. It could be brushed off easily as two people meeting for a respectful display of skill, but Cullen wasn’t just a man in the Inquisition - he was a representative of the Inquisition’s strength.

And, though he tried to smother it, some part of him wanted to prove himself. Dorian had shown himself to be a flippant man and he was sarcastic about the southern life which was all that Cullen knew and all that he was. It was a useless idea to feel compelled to impress a man who seemed unimpressed by everything, though Cullen knew he had always had his own streak of pride hidden behind dignity. He shook it off - he had no one to justify himself to but the Maker. Nothing pride-worthy would come from demonstrating the powers that had so often been used to hurt the mages that were now their allies - that had been used to drag apostates screaming to the Circle. He had left that behind when he joined the Inquisition. 

At least, he told himself that. Mental shackles still held him back; those impulsive and intrusive thoughts all triggered by fear. The most frustrating part was that he was a rational man and he was learning how false these thoughts could be, and yet they sprung up in reaction anyway. It was all hot metal that had to be beaten down and refined, but it was so much easier to take action than sit on his thoughts. Well, perhaps he would have more chances. There was at least one mage who could make use of him.

 

 

Cullen was chatting with Harritt at the smithy when Dorian approached.

His arms were crossed, breathing more white than the rest of them, yet impeccably well-groomed, as always. He was wearing some sort of luxurious mage robes over his usual leather strappings, though of an unusual fashion. 

“Good morning.” Cullen greeted.

“That’s yet to be seen,” Dorian replied, somewhat hunched in the cold. “But there’s hope yet.”

Off to the side, a small group of people gathered, some of whom were Cullen’s own recruits, watching them with interest. Cullen nodded to them as Dorian stopped before him. "I’m guessing you didn't tell them, did you?"

"Ah, I had wondered if being followed was not some unusually obvious surveillance." His lips curled into that casual smile though Cullen wasn’t pleased with the idea.

“Maker, I didn’t expect any sort of crowd.”

“Better put on a good show.” 

Harritt was looking Dorian over, but said nothing more than “Have you a blade that needs sharpening?”

“No, not today. But I will be by to modify a staff soon.”

Dorian stretched, arms knocking the staff on his back, and Cullen realized the obvious that he was about to battle a foreign mage. He hadn’t mentally prepared at all, though he supposed they were both flying blind. They walked a short way across the frozen lake to an open area by a dock - close enough to camp if something went wrong. The group of observers hadn’t followed directly behind them, instead staying by the treeline. It seemed they were going to pretend it was natural that they happened upon them during their break. Typical. Cullen wondered if it was Varric’s doing. 

Dorian remarked on his expression. “Can’t fault them for being curious.” 

Cullen adjusted his shield and unsheathed his sword, the sharp sound drawing all eyes. It was a weight so familiar to his hand that its presence was an extension of himself. Dorian likewise grasped the staff from his back in a graceful rotation of the wrist.

"And you honor me with a real sword."

"Well,” Cullen said “you are using real magic."

“Planning on cutting through it?” Dorian cocked his head with that confident smile. 

“I can.”

"You trust yourself enough not to cut me down with it; that's nice to see, but not necessary. Is a sword and shield the default templar training?"

"It is, but others branch out with weapon preferences after initial training. And what is your proficiency? Lighting, fire, or. . ?"

Dorian almost looked insulted, but then shook his head in dismissal. "All basic elemental magic, of course. This is a fire staff, but any mage worth their mettle branches into more than one rudimentary element. My proficiency is Necromancy."

_ Necromancy _ ? Cullen's eyes widened in alarm. He thought to reply, but no words came to him. Was it not considered a dark art? 

"Pleased it's not blood magic?"

"That – that's not what I was - "

"Please, Commander, loosen up. Think of it like a different type of spirit magic." That didn't make him feel better, when the definition between spirit and demon was still debatable. Dorian shook out his limbs, turning for a loose stance, and Cullen nodded, readying himself for any sort of strange apparitions.

"Alright. Should I warn you before any smite?"

"No, surprise me." Dorian grinned.

"You're a little too excited for this. This is meant to be educational, remember?"

"Yes, yes." He twirled his staff with impatience.

" . . . Are you sure you're ready? It can be a little-"

"Are you sparring with me, or helping me lose my maidenhead?"

Heat flushed to Cullen’s face and more than a few laughs rose from those gathered. They were no doubt curious about the new mage and how their Commander would handle him. He took his stance. "Okay, I'll start with-"

The crackle of electricity birthed into the air around him and Cullen instinctually pivoted from a glyph forming beneath him. It had triggered, and blasted upwards in a charge that he had narrowly avoided. He looked over to Dorian who was spinning his staff and pacing the field with a malicious smile. There were some sounds of disapproval behind him now.

"You-!"

"Do me the pleasure of an all-out drag-out, Commander!" His voice was raised, but he was jovial, ready to play. His hand began to take an orange hue and Cullen raised his shield quickly as heat blew past in an instant, flame raising into the air above in a plume.There was a lot of power there, carefully controlled.

This wasn't what he had planned, but already, he had noticed how Dorian would cast with his left hand as well as his staff-hand. He was an eager, offensive fighter.

"He just wants to show off." the unmistakable voice of Varric was heard in the crowd. Cullen shifted his shield downwards to see his opponent, and recognized a variation of a building energy barrage, so he rushed forward. The fire let loose, and Cullen moved his shield arm to block from behind, his sword guarding his front, and cutting through the aimed flares, though the heat met his armor. The slight smell of singed fur came from his mantle. Dorian moved backwards - distance always being a mage’s advantage. 

They paced each other, Dorian testing a few small spells towards him to see what he’d do, while Cullen avoided them. He would take the offensive, but for now he wanted to see how Dorian would play. He could tell Dorian was watching his defenses. With those few spells, Cullen could feel the difference between his techniques and a Circle mage’s. Dorian contained his mana, as to not risk harming Cullen in their spar, but there was still a strong push; a precision behind his work. Spells that should have been familiar were altered for his purpose, and various in their types. It wasn't a strategy of which spell to use, as much as which spell would hit, and how he could alter it to be most effective. It was the most methodical spellcasting he'd encountered.

Winter's Grasp shot up to freeze Cullen’s boots in place, utilized by the ice already at his feet. Cullen's normal tactic of aggressor was halted by his apprehension, and Dorian was tired of Cullen's high defense. Casting with incredible speed, a glyph bloomed up from the ground behind Cullen and Dorian assaulted the senses instead with an acrid purple smoke. As the first tendrils of sharp, burning panic tryed to seep in, Cullen countered with Mental Fortress, shutting down the fear spell with practiced clarity. Sitting vigil had been more grueling than any physical training; any illusions shattered. Dorian had the shine of a protection barrier flicker quickly over him, but no matter. Cullen let his mind reach into the reserve that was no longer there, but some of that lyrium was still lingering, hanging onto the marrow of his bones.  
It was so practiced, so easy, to fall back to that muscle memory and release a Spell Purge, but it was almost painful as it ripped from his body and outwards. Like a ripple, the cleansing force washed over Dorian, who held up a hand in subconscious defense. There was no saving his barrier as it blew from him like sand. The glyph sizzled up before exploding in a backdraft, and Dorian was barely prepared to Fadestep from the energies combusting the area. His magic reserves were deep indeed.

The smile returned to Dorian’s face once more, as the mage looked at him in surprise. There was a lot of power there, but Dorian was also flashy, and as he drew his staff back, the tell-tale sign of static pricked his skin and Cullen knew what was coming. He would have to be faster than the lighting he was summoning. He wondered in that second if it might look bad for the Inquisition’s Commander to lose a spar to a Tevinter mage. They had only meant to exchange tactics -why had Dorian turned this into a competition? And yet, the strategy had his adrenaline up, burning through him with satisfaction.

Cullen heaved the lyrium once more from within, white hot on his muscles, and wielded his sword to release a Holy Smite. It was still strong, even by templar standards, and completely sliced Dorian’s access to the fade from their plane. It was bizarre to see the nonplussed look that crossed Dorian’s face as his mana became temporarily nonexistent. The shock of it stole his grace, making him buckle down onto one knee, his staff keeping balance. There was little sound but Dorian’s hard breathing. Cullen hesitated a moment, before approaching with his sword lowered. Perhaps it had been too much. “Are you-”

The staff came up quickly on the right to meet Cullen’s sword as combat became weapon to weapon. A cheer came up from a crowd that had increased two-fold. Caught by surprise, Cullen’s blade was fending off the attack, though Dorian was an athlete and relentlessly moved to flank. This was familiar, and his muscles burned pleasantly this time. Cullen could keep up. Sword and shield against a bladed staff was an unusual sight for those gathered and some were casting in their lot with yells of encouragement. It was difficult for the staff to get an edge in against a shield, however. 

Dorian split to catch a breath. “You’re agile in that gear. Who’d have thought?” He huffed.

“A melee mage. I’m surprised as well.”

Dorian shook his wrist and a spark trembled there. He threw up a weak barrier, but Cullen advanced. As Dorian blocked with his quarterstaff, Cullen planted a Righteous Strike so his mana would drain with every defense. He knew Dorian felt it as he spat a quiet curse in Tevene. With what little mana he had left, he flung an electric shock with his bare hand towards Cullen’s sword arm. Cullen moved the arm back, but too late, his right hand went numb. Perhaps this was a gambit Dorian usually went for, but when Cullen threw down his shield to toss his sword to his other hand, he scoffed.

"Ambidextrous? Is that also templar training?" 

"No."

It was the weaker hand, but it was better than a numb one. It was simple strikes now. They were both getting tired, and Dorian was waiting for his access to magic to flow back. Dorian’s playful smile had turned somewhat wicked, and Cullen couldn’t help but return it. They both wanted to win now. Cullen was on the offensive, and Dorian was keeping him back. Cullen could endure longer, and though Dorian was spry, he didn’t have  the arm strength to match his fortitude. Dorian blocked a strong swing downwards and his knees bent lower under the force.

“I thought we were being educational.” Dorian said in mock appeal.

"I'd have you with this sword." 

"Are you sure?" His grey eyes misted with a purple glow and Cullen used his distraction with a spell to pull his sword back and under, flinging the staff from Dorian's grip, but a collective gasp had risen from those gathered to watch. The staff clamored on the ground beside the mage, but rather than pick it up, Dorian let flames gather in his hands, and Cullen looked to see the decrepit bones of wolf corpses flanking him. They had risen from the snow, dead for Maker knows how long, but shambling with a green glow and mimicking the souls they had once been with open jowl and hunched shoulders.

"You fight dirty." Cullen rasped.

"Does that mean I win?"

Cullen shook out his dominant sword hand as the feeling came back. He was prepared to cut these beasts down when the gruff voice of Iron Bull carried. "I think you made your point, 'Vint." The crowd was murmuring, wondering if the sparring would advance or if any rules were breached.

"It was supposed to be one on one." Cullen lowered his sword and wiped the sweat from his brow with his free wrist.

Dorian abandoned his stance as well and stepped closer. "I, ah, think I may have gotten a bit carried away." Dorian held out his hand in truce and Cullen took it. 

"Maybe a bit, but so did I."

"You think so?" Dorian looked over to the gossiping crowd, some of which were already dispersing. Many mages and non-mages were talking excitedly, though a few wore stony expressions and spoke to each other while glaring in Dorian's direction. His spell expired, and the corpses fell over in a sick thud into the snow, while the abducted green spirits that had animated them flew up to the sky and dissipated into mist.

"Thank you," Dorian said, and it seemed genuine, though Cullen could hardly tell. “That was different from anything I'm used to, including your swordsmanship. That – ‘smite,’ was it? - wretched, is what it was." He shook his head but was smiling. "And a dispel with area damage? I have a lot to discuss with you about this templar business."

"Maybe some questions from your new students first?"

Dorian turned his head and saw several mages hanging back, waiting for their conversation to finish."Eager learners! That's what I like to see." He dipped his head in short acknowledgement. "Another time then, Commander. I’ll find you this evening." He did a gesture of steepling his hands in an arc, then turned away to speak with those gathered.

The Iron Bull also followed up as Cullen headed back. "That's some fancy blade-work, Commander. " Cullen was used to being the tall one in a room, so the shadow Bull cast over him as he walked was always impressive. 

"Thank you. And for stepping in, I suppose. I hate to admit, but I was loathe to stop and it had to end sometime."

"Yeah, always count on a 'Vint mage to try and pull the rug from under you, especially a pretty one. I’ve had mages blow fire at me plenty, but it’s only down here that  _ that _ weird templar shit happens. Only way to get the advantage I guess. Besides, no offense, but it wasn't a fair fight. You've been off the lyrium for a while, right?" Cullen felt the words strike him like a lance and though his feet walked, his mind froze. Bull continued on, as if it was of no consequence; "I can't smell it on you. I've fought templars, and I could tell in your attacks - it looked painful when it shouldn't be. I bet a full attack from you would have really changed the game." The matter-of-fact way that Iron Bull spoke about such a personal issue was strangely comforting. He knew that Bull shared that he knew because he wanted to assure Cullen, not threaten him. It was better to move past the subject.

"I don’t know about that. He still recovers quickly; there's an impressive amount of magic there, never mind weapon ability too."

"He was also distracted. He's flashy when he doesn't need to be. But you also had the element of surprise when it comes to that templar shit. Good to know, because that'll knock those Venatori bastards down."

Iron Bull patted his shoulder which made him lurch, and went to his usual haunt by the stables to speak with his lieutenant. Cullen held it together for as long as he could, and then used a few waiting reports as a perfect excuse to leave and sit down. He spilled into his chair with a mighty sigh and the clank of armor. The fighting wasn't so taxing as the lyrium powers that pulled on him like a great feverish ache. Every single time he used it, it was harder to reach; farther away. He was weaker; so much weaker than he had been. Still. As much as he needed to catch his breath, it had been fun. Dorian had said that he had a lot to discuss, but Cullen also had his own questions. Did all Tevinter mages fight like him? If so, he could see why the nation was such a force of power. 

He took a moment to recover before changing into a fresh tunic and getting back to work. It was always a long day, and there was still much to do. 

  
  


 

After several people tried to speak with Cullen about the spar, he decided that their minds were too occupied and had them run more drills. They didn’t ask after that. It was the impromptu big event of the day, and he knew he wouldn’t stop hearing about it too soon.

Dorian had spoken to quite a few mages and lingered a while later, despite keeping his arms crossed from the cold and brushing the occasional flecks of snow from his shoulders. Though he called himself no natural teacher, he was a socialite and many of the rebel mages warmed to him quickly. It was a good sign. 

Varric asked them to dinner for a spar review and Cullen declined. He was relieved when Dorian declined also, saying he had to speak with Cullen anyway. It would have been a nightmare to be in a crowded tavern and possibly face praise and teasing ridicule. Cullen thought of himself as companionable, but social gatherings more and more often became draining rather than relaxing. He accepted the easier invites of small talk from Varric as distraction and getting to know him better, but anything more was too much. There always something else to do that loomed in the back of his mind. He found himself instead waiting for Dorian to arrive at his quarters, who had insisted that Cullen’s room would definitely be more amiable which Cullen took to mean “more clean.”

A curt knock had Cullen opening the door for Dorian, who was there in different, dark blue robes and an arm full of sweet rolls. 

“Evening.” he said, immediately walking past Cullen to stand by the fireplace for warmth. 

“Do you plan on eating all of those?” 

“Don’t smirk at me; I have a high metabolism.” He replied, with no offense noted. “And the desserts here are so sweet yet not rich. They’re strangely addictive. Do you want one?” 

Cullen took the offered roll and hadn’t realized how hungry he was until it was gone in a few bites. “Thank you.”

Dorian stared at him. “By all means. There’s more here to inhale.”

“I’ll catch dinner later.”

“It’s past ten.”

“Is it?” 

“I thought you would be irritated I was so late.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” Cullen murmured, looking over to the pile of missives he had been reading over. “Ah, you can have a seat, or?” He gestured to the table. 

“If you don’t mind. . .?” Dorian pointed to the fireplace but Cullen hadn’t taken his meaning. The flame increased without warning, heating the room by a few degrees as Dorian moved from the fireplace to the table. “There we go.” He visibly relaxed, deposited his food on the table, and swung one leg over the other, lounging into the chair. 

“So,” Dorian began. “No all-out drag-out then. Would have been fun.”

“I was getting there, to be honest.” Cullen added, moving his hand to his neck. “I don’t often see battle-mages. You also use a ‘fear’ magic?”

“‘Horror,’ yes, a little offshoot of Necromancy. Didn’t seem to take.”

“It’s a part of templar training to have a steady mind.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Dorian asked, pulling apart a roll into smaller pieces. “But that smite was something, I’ll give you that.”

“The first experience with it can be debilitating, from what I’ve heard.” He almost wanted to apologize, though the thought seemed absurd. He remembered the look on on Dorian’s face when it happened, but there was no sign of it now. 

“It does feel, oddly, like losing a limb. But it doesn’t only cut off mana - was it different with the dispel?”

“Somewhat. It makes magic inaccessible in all forms, whether through a mage or magic surroundings.”

“It affects access to the fade?”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Interesting,” Dorian’s eyes seem to wander beyond Cullen as his thoughts took him somewhere else. “Not accessing the fade, but rejecting it.” He returned to himself. "Alright, perhaps the rumors are fanciful, but I wanted to ask for myself. I can definitely smell the lyrium around the templars here, true enough-"

"You can  _ smell _ them?" So it wasn’t just Iron Bull.

"Yes, being that lyrium is magic and mages are drawn to that sort of thing – it is quite an  _ attractive _ smell, but I digress. How is it used exactly?"

"How do you mean? It's processed, diluted, and ingested."

" _ Ingest-  _ " The horror on Dorian’s face was pronounced. "You mean templars - non-mages – drink lyrium potions?"

"Not the same as a mage would concoct, no. Lyrium potions for mages are pre-made. Templars generally have their own kits to dilute processed lyrium on their person."

"But you all take lyrium. As non-mages." He was insistent on the fact, those gray eyes fixing him to a point.

_ Not anymore _ . "Well, yes. Usually daily."

" _ Vishante Kaffas. _ "

Cullen didn't understand the swear, but he felt the intention. "Are templar powers so mysterious in the North?"

"We know they tend to have authority over mages down here, but that's mostly chocked up to bad education and a peasants-with-pitchforks kind of imagery. No offense." He added, at Cullen’s twisting mouth. "But  _ ingesting lyrium to block the fade  _ – no wonder Tevinter suppresses this information to the general public. Might give our own templars some ideas - not that it would help much. But using lyrium for  _ magic suppression by non-mages _ . . . An effective way to create polarities. . . Mages can just as easily suppress mana or use Dispel, though more advanced techniques are a guarded art. Using mana to disrupt mana."

Cullen took that in. "But mages couldn’t potentially have templar powers, they’d neutralize their own mana."

"It's a thought, isn't it? The lyrium probably wouldn’t work the same way - an interesting physiological difference."

"Do mages face addiction with lyrium?"

Dorian's expression changed slightly, but Cullen couldn't read it. Those who often played the Game, like Leliana, had a way of being inscrutable with their thoughts, making the cultural window pane that separated them more obvious. "Yes, it's possible, but not terribly common. Anything that forces an increase of magic is generally unhealthy for a mage. Not unlike how being drunk is supposedly bad for you, and abusing it leads to consequences. It's addictive like how something very very tasty is addictive,” He punctuated by finishing off the sweet roll. “But one can resist." He watched Cullen. "I imagine for a templar taking it every day, it would be far worse."

Cullen looked away. He had unwittingly shared a vulnerability. A familiar part of him wanted to shut down the conversation, but there was a foothold in place now, in which he wanted to learn more. He had to keep his mind open to mages, and the conversation had given him a lot to think about. Dorian, however, spared his thoughts to move on.

"How do you draw from it, exactly?"

"It's . . .almost instinctual, like knowing your muscle's limits as far as exertion goes. But it's limited to lyrium intake. One draws the magic from the lyrium inside the body, like, ah," It was strange to describe. It was a feeling so ingrained that it became intangible. Dorian listened patiently ". . . It's like pulling it from my very veins. Then it's unleashed, and it's gone. It's not like how a mage draws from the fade like water from a well."

"Ah, but how would you know the difference?"

"I just do. We don't use magic."

"But you are  _ wielding _ magic, if not using it. Not by using yourself as a conduit of the fade, but rather like a tool. As non-mages might use enchanted items, perhaps? Such a strange aversion to magic here in the south, but templars use it themselves – to shut it down. Fascinating. Though so. . . precarious. For the Chantry to provide this power at the cost of addiction - actually, no, that makes perfect sense." He said with some distaste. “Why use mages who can use Dispel against other mages, when you don’t trust them? More convenient to give control to those they could ensure would always be dependent on them.”

Again came that wriggling feeling of wanting to end the conversation of scrutiny, even though he knew what Dorian said was true. Cullen gave crumbs of an answer and Dorian made it into handfuls; questioning and elaborating. But was it because of the questioning, or because it was done by a mage? Cullen had to remind himself that he was an ally, and Dorian gave just as much information, if not more.

“Oh,” Dorian had seen the discomfort on his face. “Pardon me, Commander. I came to talk about training plans and I’m prattling on.”

"No, what you said. . . You're right." He admitted, "I won't argue in favor of the Imperium, but the southern Circles were . . . I mean, you seem to know a great deal that is important for me to hear."

Dorian gave a slight smile, perhaps pleased at the compliment, if not the chance to be right. It was hard to tell.

"Quite often," Dorian added delicately, "There’s not a lack of knowledge, so much as a concealment of knowledge."

Cullen let that soak in. Although he had left the Order on bad terms, it was only now that he was starting to truly look down the rabbit hole and it was impossible to know how deep it went. For years he knew that there was an idea of corruption happening within, but in a way that had been so muddied with his own biases that much of it had become normal and expected. It was an outsider perspective that seemed to pin down the problems deftly, merely by asking him to explain. How had it taken this long? "I'd like to ask you more questions later, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Education is a delight, isn't it?"

Dorian said it at such a slant that he wasn't sure whether he was being mocked, or if the mage just delighted in learning new things. Both, probably. “Now then. The task at hand.”

 

~

  
  


“ _ Kevesh _ ,” Dorian sighed. The sun was bright off the snow, making him squint. “No, no, don’t worry about precision right now. Worry more about planting the spell.”

“But. . .If a templar dispelled it and the energy burst. . .”

“Dealing area damage is an advanced technique, our Commander assures us. And if it comes to that, hopefully you’ll be far enough away and it deals some friendly fire instead.”

The young circle mage looked doubtful, lowering his eyes to the ground. “I hadn’t even had my Harrowing yet.”

“Hopefully you’ll never need to.” The mage raised his eyes at the bold statement, but Dorian waved it off. He was somewhat vocal about the the disgusting neglect of some Circles and how they needed a due education. This was often met with with either agreement or defensive scoffs depending on their political leaning, but many mages merely wanted to help so they would try their best. Dorian respected it. Among the Enchanters and Senior Enchanters there was great skill, but Dorian also thought this might be because their Harrowings weeded out the mages who could have survived with any adequate preparation. He had only recently discovered that it was more like a surprise live-or-die test; quite different from the Tevinter method. “For now, focus on your casting and not the person you’re attacking. It may be a warrior or it may be a templar, but you have to hit either way. You’re the one they fear, after all.” The young mage nodded but took a seat to build up his strength and mana.

Dorian didn’t know how Cullen did this every day - overlooking trainees and being constantly vigilant for how they may improve, but Dorian was not about to be shown up. It made him feel a little sympathetic for his old professors. They were building their focus, but it was still slow-going. He saw on Cullen’s side of the grounds that he was looking over a pair sparring with swords, so Dorian let the Senior Enchanters supervise as he wandered over. 

“Don’t ignore your shield,” he told them. 

Dorian wondered if they were nervous with their Commander watching with crossed arms, but they seemed at ease. “Good. Much better.” Cullen gave Dorian a glance as he approached, before returning his attention forward. They stood placid amongst the flurry of practice drills around them. “I think our recruits can start practicing together soon. You’ve done well with the mages.”

“Oh?” 

“I won’t pretend I know the intricacies of spell-casting, but they’ve improved with your leadership.”

Dorian had been expecting a competitive jab, but not blatant praise. "You're very open with your compliments, Commander."

Cullen turned towards him again, head slightly cocked. "It's not given freely. If someone earns it, it's polite to tell them so."

"It's quite refreshing."

"Welcome to Ferelden, Ser Pavus, where we say what we mean."

“What a  _ novel _ idea.” It came out more sarcastic than he had intended.

“It’s useful to build your trainee’s confidence, which you could do, I might add.”

“Oh, you might.”

“I’m advising, not criticizing.” Cullen spared him a smile. “They try hard. Every small step is a step forward.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“The novelty’s already wearing off.”

He almost made the Commander laugh, but it had turned into a cough. “And. . . your mages haven’t had any trouble with others?”

“ _ My _ mages?” Dorian smiled now. Cullen’s attitude of protection and responsibility over his recruits was well known, and he seemed to expect the same attitude from Dorian. Dorian had felt more like a supply teacher than anything. “Well, not as far as I know. ”

Cullen nodded. “They’re warming up to you.”

“Of course they are,” Dorian preened, running a hand through his hair. “Though it is cutting into my studies, unfortunately. I’ll be happy to pass the mantle to Solas.”

“Of course.” Cullen’s eyes flicked to him, then back. “I can understand if it’s _ too much _ for you.”

“What’s this?” Dorian peered over to Cullen who had thrown his own words back at him, but Cullen turned his head away to hide a smirk.“The Commander has sass? Who would have thought?” 

Cullen gave only smug silence, but a murmuring went up around the recruits and heads turned to the mountains. Dorian turned to look as well.

“Is that Trevelyan?”

“A bit early.” Cullen remarked. Sure enough, a small party was passing over the mountain path, black patches moving slowly against the white. And, small as a pinprick, a tiny glowing twinkle of green light.

  
  


~

“I can’t believe this.” Korvyn said in disapproval. They walked together to the war table, Korvyn fresh from his horse and ready to debrief before taking the rest of the day to rest. “My own Commander. Sparred with Dorian. And I missed it.”

“I‘m sure Varric can give you a play by play account later.”

“ _ Still _ .” The Chantry was before them and they pushed their way inside. Some occupants observed them, moved out of their path.

“First thing I hear from my Horsemaster is what I missed.”

“But what news from the Hinterlands?”

Korvyn gave a sigh. “Oh, don’t change the subject when  can tell you that in the war room. I just want to know what you guys were up to while I was gone. Something that isn’t entirely dirty work.” In a way, Cullen understood a bit of what Korvyn meant. Away from safety, it was nice to take the mind back to something familiar or entertaining. Korvyn gave a small smile as they walked the hall. “So, who won?”  

“It was a spar. No one won.”

“So Dorian.”

Cullen tried not to huff. The mage hadn’t won; they had just been interrupted. It would have been a draw if - no, they hadn’t even been battling so it didn’t matter. 

“It’s very  _ flashy _ magic from Dorian, isn’t it? Never just a spell; there’s always some sort of flare to it.”

“I noticed a little.”

“Mages have their own artistry.” They stopped outside of the war room, Korvyn perhaps hesitant to get back to business too soon. “Dorian’s magic is very stylized, like uh. . . like cursive writing, almost. Vivienne’s is gorgeous as well.” His hands mimicked the movements of what he tried to describe. “It’s so  _ precise _ and she does so much with so little; no mana wasted. Solas’ magic is more. . . free. like water. It’s not trained like Dorian and Vivienne, but it’s still so. . . You’re giving me a weird look.”

“Sorry, I, well.” Cullen wiped off any look he had shown with apology. “I’ve been learning more about mages in the last few months than I ever learned in decades with the Order. You’re just from another Circle and have such a different perspective.”

“I’m just making observations, you know? It’s easy if you just think of mages like everyone else.”

“I don’t-”

“Oh, shit, I didn’t mean it like-” He winced. “I know you don’t generalize as much, but I mean, you don’t know every warrior or archer or man or woman or elf or anything else, so, you know, don’t expect mages to stop surprising you either. Believe me, this is a learning experience for me too. I was just a mage from Ostwick Circle before this, and now talking with any of our best mages makes my head spin for thought.” 

“I know what you mean. Sometimes it feels better to hit something for a while, as Cassandra would suggest.”

“Good ole Cassandra. After riding so long I just want to stretch out. I would exercise or something, but I’m too tired.”

“You’re welcome to stretch with the last drill of the day.”

“I’ll pass. Those poor recruits.” He shook his head as if the very idea of running pained him. “This mountain air can be a little brutal; how do you measure your breathing when you run?”

Cullen’s hand went to his neck. “Well, . . . you know that song  _ The Deal in Denerim _ ?”

“That ridiculously long one? ‘ _ O, when I die they’ll find me there,’ _ ” 

“It’s a perfect running pace.”

“Really? Huh.” Korvyn didn’t tease or test the idea. He accepted any safe method that tended to get results. “Now every time I see the recruits running I’ll think of that song.”

Josephine approached as they lingered outside the door, smoothing her hair. “Herald, welcome back. I hope you traveled with some ease?” 

“With the last ease of my patience.” He sighed. “No one mention anything about bears to Cassandra for a while. You’ll thank me.”

They entered the room together with Leliana at the table. Korvyn went over his path through the Hinterlands, assuring that there should be no more remaining rifts as well as detailing the unfortunate incident with multiple bears appearing while they assaulted a bandit outpost.

“Oh, right,” Korvyn added, looking to Cullen. “How is Dorian doing with the mages? Think they’ll be ready with a week, maybe a week and a half with Solas or Vivienne?”

“They’ve improved, yes, at least with some combat strategy and refining their skills. Though, they’ll need more focus to take on their goal.”

Korvyn was silent for moment, and looked to his hand. It throbbed a subtle green but he opened and closed his palm as if flexing his fingers. “Alright. Good. Let’s get that Breach closed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Thedas UK Con: The Templar abilities, are they--despite the Chantry's protestations--a form of magic?
> 
> David Gaider: I would say that they are magic, they derive from lyrium, which is magic. The tricky thing there is that the Chantry is awfully hypocritical when it comes to magic, in that there are sorts of magic that they will use. Actually I should take that back, it's not necessarily that they're hypocritical, they don't have anything against magic itself. Magic can be useful, they know the mages are useful. It's the elements of possession and blood magic, all the forbidden magic where things get really dicey. Even if Templar magic was recognized as spellcasting, it's not innate to the Templars, if they just stopped taking lyrium eventually they would lose the ability. Although as Alistair proves, they can use the ability for a long time afterwards. I think part of that was just the requirements of gameplay, for us to have a specialization as well, so some of that story doesn't quite match up with the gameplay, and I think eventually we'd like to work the lyrium requirement back into the gameplay as well. Regardless the magic the Templars use doesn't involve mind control, it's not forbidden magic, there's nothing about it--especially since it can only against mages--there's nothing about it that would make the Chantry step in and go "Wow, that's bad." But then we're talking about a Chantry that also has phylacteries in every Circle, which is a type of blood magic, so there's definitely an element of hypocrisy there. " -http://swooping-is-bad.livejournal.com/1286233.html


	4. Intermission: Some Small Hope

Dorian had never felt so cold in his life; Not when he experienced a frost-spell backfire as a child, and not when he came south for the first time. It was here, when all hopes were buried under the unforgiving snow, that he forgot what it felt like to feel warm. Everywhere was all white, all dark. 

Korvyn was, by many standards, ordinary. An average Enchanter invited to the Conclave because of family ties, he stayed out of trouble for the majority of his life until when it mattered most. He became the one person who could close the rifts, who took on the responsibility of being a beacon of hope, who  _ became _ extraordinary by making a choice in an unusual circumstance. But more important than any of that, he was a good person. And now, Korvyn was presumed dead. Dorian didn’t have many friends. He had Felix and Maevaris, true, but very few people were allowed to be close, and Korvyn had almost been there. It was a terrible shame. And beyond that hung the deaths of many other recruits who held off those rogue Templars so they could escape. Their Herald was gone, Haven was gone, and a hideous Darkspawn with an Archdemon was flying free somewhere. So it seemed a Blight was coming. 

The world was black and blue as the remaining company trudged through the dark and snow, the icy wind cutting through them. Light fluttered from shaky lanterns, blinking in the quick snowfall, and some mages wearily lit their staves to guide those behind them with what little mana they had left after closing the Breach. The weight of loss fell over them thicker than any ice, pulling at their feet as sure as the crumbling snow.

Dorian had always been one to fight to the last breath, but he could see in the faces of the devoted that the loss of their Herald left them weary, preferring to drop and let the snow cover them than hike on further. Many of them were encouraged kindly by Chantry sisters to keep moving; Cassandra and Cullen herded with promises of a plan to those who felt more secure to follow orders when that was all they had left. 

Luckily the scouts knew the terrain well. Solas had a light tread and helped them lead everyone to a level area for a camp to be set up for the night. Leliana had given her cloak to Josephine, and Iron Bull had Sera linger beside him so the wind was blocked. Dorian even shared a blanket with an elf he didn’t know until tents started to go up and the person vanished to go sleep. He sat next to Vivienne by a fire and she looked furious, but said nothing. Few spoke at all. Just the advisers argued in hushed voices. 

So this was what was left of the Inquisition. It had been throttled in its youth. They had achieved too many great things for it to be over so soon; The red lyrium future that Dorian had seen lingered in his mind’s eye. He would have to stop it, or die trying. 

Then, there was a sudden scattering of people. A scout had spotted someone approaching, they said. 

“Look! There he is!”

“Thank the Maker!”

Dorian stood up in disbelief. Gasps and calls to the Herald would not be heard by Korvyn, as his collapsed body was dragged to a cot. A crowd gathered round, but Dorian could only see Cullen’s cloak thrown over Trevelyan, and the frantic, pulsing green of the Anchor. It flared, expelling bright currents of energy and all gathered flinched back as it streaked towards them. Solas, however, stepped forward, and they were all told to leave and give the man space. 

Dorian was still trying to comprehend how reality had just shifted. Cullen caught him staring like a halla in the torchlight and Dorian remembered how to blink. Everything had still been tossed to shit, but if this small hope could survive, perhaps anything was possible. 

 

 

Hope fluctuated in the following week. Desperate, voiced concerns were whispered around him. “At least our Herald is back,” “But does he know where we’re going? Autumn chill is already here.” “I don’t know; I don’t know how long we can keep traveling.” “But at least we have our Herald.” “He can close those rifts. As longs as we have that, we have a solution.” Dorian tried to make light of it as much as he could. Varric, Sera, and Iron Bull at least played along and kept him from wilting in the snow with the rest of them, but when he tried to joke with Cullen, the Commander was having none of it. Dorian had thought him brooding, but hung back. Many of those lost, after all, were people he had known and trained personally. 

Varric had mentioned how Cullen had doted on his recruits, and now they lie in that shallow grave, alongside Dorian’s own trainees. Would they ever get a proper burial? Dorian wasn’t sure how many of the mages they had lost. The young mage who hadn’t yet passed his Harrowing was yet to be seen, and it gripped at him. He hadn’t nearly been as close to the mages, but all the same, he found he couldn’t think about it. If he thought about it, then the dread would creep in; the feelings of failure, and loss, and helplessness. That was no good for the living nor the dead, so he tried to think of other things. Joke. Laugh.

It wasn’t until night when he would hear people quietly trying to silence their crying that misery started to take hold. Dorian got up quickly to leave the tents and stare into the fire. More often than not, Korvyn was there too, as he was now. He walked and walked like a man possessed during the day, but even so, he found no peace at night. It was the only time, really, that Dorian was able to talk to him.

“You know,” Dorian said as he approached. “There are droughts you could take.”

Korvyn turned slightly. “I could say the same to you. Aren’t you risking your beauty sleep?”

“Flatterer.” Dorian took the spot next to him. The night was always terribly cold, but it was calm.

“. . . Other people need the resources.”

Dorian scoffed. “And you don’t?”

Korvyn massaged the Anchor in his hand and sighed. “Josephine said that too. I don’t want to visit the fade right now.”

“You’re not concerned that. . .”

“Sweet Andraste, no. I’m not worried about demons as much as- well.” He sighed heavily. “The pressure is getting to me, Dorian.” He kept his gaze on the flames. “I mentioned what happened, but I didn’t really- . . .The anchor is doing strange things.”

“It’s changed?”

“It feels more powerful.”

“Is that not good?”

“I don’t know yet. ‘Powerful’ is no guarantee of goodness, you know?”

“All too well.”

Silence started to settle in again, and Korvyn raised his hand to increase the flame, the crackling growing louder. 

“My condolences about your recruits.” Dorian said. He hated having to be serious with Korvyn, but it had to be said. 

“They were your recruits too.” Korvyn’s eyes stayed straight ahead. “We’re all taking it hard.”

“Your advisers especially, it seems.”

“Yeah. Leliana and Cullen both feel responsible.”

Dorian huffed. “Self-punishing isn’t helpful.”

“He was. . .we were. . .” Korvyn’s hand went up to ruffle his hair, a nervous gesture that Dorian noted was not unlike Cullen’s own hand to the neck. “We were prepared to sacrifice Haven.” He grimaced. “Cullen suggested that we may be able to bury all of Haven, as well as Corypheus. And I agreed. I was ready to buy off time. I was going to choose for all of us to die in order stop the templars. If it weren’t for Cole and Roderick. . . we’d all be dead.” He still couldn’t meet Dorian’s eyes. “But Corypheus got away anyway. We got many alive in the end, but. I just keep thinking about that. There’s a lot of power in choosing when to die. I was prepared to do it. But I shouldn’t be the one to make those decisions for other people.”

“Who else would? If not you, then Cullen would have. If not Cullen, then Cassandra or Leliana may have made that call. The point was that you made a choice when you had to. And look, you didn’t make the horrible one after all.”

“Are you okay with me choosing when you get to die like that?”

“Of course not, but I didn’t, did I? Every single person here knows what they signed up for. If I’m going to lose life or limb, I just plan to look good while it happens.”

“We shouldn’t have used Haven in the first place.”

Dorian scoffed. “What choice did you have there?”

Korvyn groaned. “Let me beat myself up, won’t you?”

“I’m sure you can do that in your own time.” 

He gave a small laugh, and Korvyn finally turned his gaze to him. “You’re a good guy, Dorian.”

“That’s what I keep telling people, but they won’t believe me.”

“It’s the mustache, I think.”

“Well, there’s no accounting for Ferelden taste.” 

“And you don’t tell people you’re good. You’ve said several times that you’re a bad man.”

“Only in contexts where it matters.”

“What does that even mean? You’re an expert at talking in circles.”

“Because I’ve been raised in the best.”

“Your puns are terrible and you should feel bad.”

Dorian grinned, and was happy to see Korvyn smiling too. He had a friend again. 

“So are you going to tell anyone where we’re going, or is that to stay a mystery?”

Korvyn turned back to the fire. “I have an idea of where we’re going, yeah. I just wonder about the state of the place.”

“At this rate, a pile of old ruins is preferable to one more night of this.”

 

Then they found Skyhold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Singing never happened, okay. Didn’t happen.


	5. Care for a Game?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Some tiny quotes were lifted from in-game dialogue. 
> 
> Always, so many thanks to my patient beta reader

When Cullen had heard about the red lyrium, he hoped he would never have to get close to it. It was in the crater that had once been the Temple of Sacred Ashes, shooting up from the ground like a frozen fount of blood, but he had only seen it once before never returning to it. He hadn’t expected to see it . . . crusting up through flesh, shards cutting through muscle up from the bone and a flash of that cocky smirk of Samson, his old comrade. It was disgusting. Disgraceful. That was the Order’s legacy. He could see it, too, in other ex-Templars among the recruits, who held solemn faces and subdued voices at the mention of the red Templars. Wondering if corruption had only ever been a red draught away, or if it had been a sickly thing, creeping through the Order for years. Whatever they could asume, they looked to Cullen as a sign that a Templar could have a different fate.

It had been a long night of discussion at their new war table, within the stable ruins of Skyhold. Korvyn had truly grown into his position as a leader, having crawled from the snow of Haven up to the steps of Skyhold, and they were thankful for his accepted role as Inquisitor. The responsibility on his shoulders, however, weighed heavy as he insisted he should do more. After stumbling twice around the table and knocking over a few map markers, Korvyn had finally been convinced to get rest. Leliana had left to manage her own scouts, so Josephine and Cullen burned the midnight oil and spoke long into the night. There was a lot they didn’t understand about each other, but at the end of the day, they were both dedicated to work and strategized through ideas long past the moons’ travels through the sky.

Once Cullen undressed in the cold tower of his newly appointed office and stared through the collapsed hole in the roof to see how the stars had moved, he knew there was no way he could sleep. His soul was tired, but his mind was buzzing with things that needed to be done. It would take exhaustion for his head to quiet down. In only his boots, breeches, and tunic, Cullen walked into the early morning air and looked over the grounds from the bridge. He hadn’t properly explored much of Skyhold, but its size was respectable and seemed to have many interconnecting parts he would have to explore. There was refuse of rotted wood and broken stone in places that would need to be fixed, but it was a magnificent hold that would provide plenty of security despite its dereliction.

Above, early migrational birds went north as autumn approached, and the chill pricked Cullen’s skin, though it felt a pleasant respite. Even so, in the background of his mind was the noise of several anxieties vying for attention but no concentration to pin down any at a time. 

An urge for distraction pulled harder through his mind; Cullen wanted to run. So he did. There were few awake, yet it was well lit for safety and not turning over an ankle in the dark. He took a controlled jog around the ramparts, descended the stairs through the garden, the great hall, down the steps to the entrance of the keep and to his left to the stables, climbing the stairs to the ramparts again until he got to his office and continued the same path without stopping. For a while he didn’t have to think, just focus on his breathing and the pain, and after several laps he felt better.

They had no lake to run around anymore, and a lot of the land outside of Skyhold was still treacherous in its centuries of isolation. This would be a suitable replacement for the early morning drills. 

_ Don’t think, just do _ .

 

//

Dorian woke from the table when his hand went numb under the weight of his head. The holes in the floor and musty smell of hay in the corners convinced him for a moment of being back in Redcliffe.  _ Felix -  _

And his neck cracked as he lifted his head suddenly and the pain brought his mind to focus. No, that wasn’t it. This was the new place. Skyhold. 

Many other realizations started shifting into place: A darkspawn Magister, learning that Tevinter was responsible for the Blights, watching Korvyn solemnly taking the role of Inquisitor, Dorian turning down the chance to have casual sex with a stranger at the tavern because he had used the word “secret.” Right, of course, that was why he drank himself to sleep. Sera’s boots were on his lap where she still slept against the cool window.  He could almost swear he could see the Commander running around shirtless outside, and decided it was time to properly turn in. 

Standing up seemed like a terrible mistake for the entirety of 3 seconds, but then he was able to hobble down the stairs and  _ Maker _ , now he had to go  _ up _ stairs and - wait, no, his quarters were the other way. Somehow he was in the library. 

Korvyn was there in the empty, circular room, stacking books out of crates. 

“Late night out, huh?” He grinned as Dorian held onto the banister for balance.

“And you’re skiving off on sleep again; my, what would Josephine say?”

Korvyn turned sheepishly. “I’ll sleep when I’m tired. We've a lot more books in transit, but I just wanted to take a look. Reading before bed helps, anyway."

Dorian couldn’t argue with that. Looking around, though, showed the place to still be a mess. "How do you expect the library to be managed?"

"We have someone doing that; a mage from a dissolved Circle."

"Oh, yes.  _ About that _ ,"

"You better play nice, Dorian."

"I'm just saying, they're using a type of organization that is -"  _ not organized? What was the word? _ He was still a little too tipsy for conversation.  "Anyway, the material itself is outrageous. Here is a book of superstitions – look at this.” He had put the book aside specifically to complain about it, “ ' _ How to Prevent Magic Formation in the Earliest Stages _ ' – prejudicial southern rubbish is what this is. We need to have a talk about just taking books from anywhere."

"Oh yeah? And here I thought any decent library held something offensive to everybody."

"That's. . . Alright, that’s not a bad point. But if we're keeping this around then I'm shelving it in the 'myths' section so people know what's what. It wouldn’t hurt to include numeral call numbers."

"Imperial Decimal System? I thought our Circle-librarian was doing Free March Cataloguing."

"Oh, she can try and stop me. While I wait for books to pour in so I can do research, I'll get stir-fever standing around doing nothing. Besides, any of our recruits may need access to this knowledge, and this is the quickest way to find something.”

Korvyn sighed. “Well you'll have to take that up with a few others as well. Vivienne requested first looks on any potion and herb books." He counted off on his fingers. "Josephine requested books as well – history and literature I think? Which Cullen will have to fight her for since he asked for the same thing. Cassandra – well I'll respect her privacy. But Leliana has informed me that  _ my _ quarters will have a bookshelf, so. . .we might be competing for books.” 

"Well I'm not sure our tastes will intersect  _ too _ much."

"Unless it's magical theory.” Korvyn seemed to have decided on a book and stood. “But I'll let you know when I'm done with them after I nab them first."

"Oh, I'm sure that would be shortly, as the most practical will be in high Tevene or Orlesian."

"Ah. Shit." 

"Congratulations on that whole ‘becoming Inquisitor’ thing, by the way."

“Thanks, uh. . .” Dorian noticed him switch hands to carry the book, his left clenched and unclenched. “Once everyone is up to speed and I’m off again, would you mind terribly to stay here when I leave for Crestwood?”

“That’s the next destination, is it?”

“The Cha- uh, a new agent tipped us off. According to reports, there’s a fade rift underwater that I thought Solas would want to take a look at, and-”

Dorian couldn’t help a short laugh. “I won’t take it personally when you leave me here, I assure you. I had wanted to research Corypheus myself anyhow.”

“You wouldn’t be interested in. . .training again, would you?”

“I’m afraid that avenue is a bit spent, don’t you?” That quickly, his humor was building to sarcasm.

He knew what Korvyn would say about it.  _ It was an ambush, they couldn’t defend themselves, it doesn’t have to do with what you were able to do for them. _ Dorian knew that already. But it still hurt to know it wasn’t quite enough. Best to keep marching on and not look back. As newly appointed Inquisitor, Korvyn could put mage recruits in much more capable hands. Korvyn put up his hands in a defeated gesture. He had learned early on that needling Dorian did nothing but end up with Korvyn defending himself in some fashion, so he backed off and turned. “. . . Is that my Commander running around the ramparts?”

“Oh good, it wasn’t me having strange fantasies.”

“He said he was going to rest right after I left!”

“And yet you’re both  _ awake _ . What a fascinating look into the lives of those who don’t know how to keep their nose from the grindstone.”

“I can’t believe this! All talk about how important rest is after working, and - I bet my other advisors aren’t sleeping either. They’re actually getting stuff done instead of wasting time with sleep.”

“To be fair, he  _ isn’t _ still working.” Odd time to get exercise, but Dorian definitely wasn’t going to complain. “Come now, nothing about sleep is wasteful, especially to a mage. You need to stay sharp, Inquisitor.”

“Oh, eugh, that sounds weird: ‘ _ Inquisitor _ .’” He paused. “Okay, but also kind of nice, maybe.” 

“Korvyn,” He landed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “ _ Go to sleep _ .”

“Yeah, okay, okay.” He looked so young to Dorian, hair scruffed up and taking every two steps down the stairs. “I’ll check on Josephine first, though. I better not see her at her desk.”

He watched Korvyn leave through the rotunda, shaking his head. They all seemed to be in a strange place. Hopefully things would settle soon; become familiar. Then he could do his own research. Plan. But even so, he knew he needed to practice any sort of healing magic. In such a military operation, Dorian had only rarely seen this much need for healers before arriving. Powerful healers were born, not made, but many mages could do first-aid levels of healing if they were taught. It was Dorian’s weakest subject in the Circles, always, and now at this crucial moment he would have to improve or risk losing the Inquisitor in battle.    
It would be too embarrassing to practice simple healing in public. Maybe he could read as much as possible and. . .  _ Kaffas _ , this was why he was exceptional at offensive spells to compensate. He knew how to call on spirits, but they just weren’t the  _ right _ type. Spirits of Death and Fear were a long way from the path of the healer. 

Anyway. Bed. Wherever in the void that was. 

  
  


//

A trail of small bodies dotted the mountain path, walking slowly and deliberately toward Skyhold. Cullen watched the families hustling through the slush of midday sun. Even from his spot at the window of his office, he could see their muddied boots and legs as they crossed the bridge to the imposing shade of Skyhold’s doors. 

There were children, poor like he had been, approaching the castle, and of course Korvyn was ready to accept all refugees, even before accepting any title as Herald or Inquisitor. He wondered idly how easy it was to imagine any of his old neighbors from Honnleath in their place. How easily he might have been one of them, if the land was ever sieged. How it was only the kindness of a Knight-Captain that had changed his path. He did wonder, sometimes, if it truly was a kindness. 

“Brooding so early?”

“Sh-” Cullen turned to see Dorian smiling at the curse he held behind his teeth. He leaned along the doorway, owning the space he entered with his projected leisure. “Dorian, how did you get here?”

“Good day to you too, Commander. I take it you haven’t ventured across the bridge to the library recently.”

He had only passed through Solas’ painting space to get to the war table. Leliana’s runners came from there frequently, and he knew that she was situated up at the rookery, but he had only been up there twice, and went straight down the stairs. He hadn’t noticed who had become native to the library.  It was obvious now who had.

“No, I hadn’t. I had thought you might have taken up at the tavern.”

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” 

“I mean no offense, only that you seem more social.”

“Of course you didn’t mean offense,” Dorian gave him that reserved smile again. “But all the same, it seems you and Josephine both have your eyes on history books. You both are also too distracted to have your people pick out books for you, which are carefully put aside and taking up space, but luckily I have a bit of time on hand.”

“You’re in charge of library affairs now?”

“Goodness, no, I’m far too hard on books to be that pedantic,” he said, pulling out a book from beneath his robes. “I’m merely observant. And faster than either of you to idleness, it seems.” He presented a book on Ferelden keeps from the mid-Storm Age.

“I. Oh. Thank you. This is a handsome copy.”

“Of course, I’ll also take the time as a friendly reminder that you owe me a drink.”

“Do I?”

“Well, you had at least agreed to drinks ‘later,’ and I’ll take the increased interest in the form of paying for my drink.”

Cullen felt his mouth pull into a small smile. After weeks of work, it felt strange on his face. Perhaps he  _ had _ been brooding.

“You bring me a book and demand a drink. A curious exchange.”

“Is it? Books and booze go together so well.”

Cullen observed his face, wondering how serious he actually was. The man hadn’t spoken to him for weeks, and surely he had other friends to drink with. He knew that rumors would arise that the Tevinter had personal motives for making friends with any of them, but Cullen didn’t wonder too much if he might be a tad lonely so far from home. Dorian continued to watch him, so Cullen looked down, letting gloved fingers idly flip through the pages. It was in good condition for its age, with illustrations even. 

“I’m sorry, Dorian. I’m not sure I’ll have the time for either drinking or reading.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. I’m sure you can at least find some kind of excuse to read that. If I’m honest, you’ve an easier excuse to go drinking.” Cullen had scarcely heard it there - concern. 

“I’m. . . fine. Are you-?”

“Sir.” Recruit Jim approached the door but halted as Dorian stood at the barrier.

“You could convince me,” Dorian shrugged. He moved aside as Jim entered the door. “We’re gathering again at the tavern tonight if you change your mind.”

Cullen had heard him, but his eyes froze on the report. He was struck by the number of names there - Those lost at Haven. Seeing their names again brought freshly to his mind who they were, who he remembered. Reiner wouldn’t be going back to his children. Or Astyth to her wife. His feet felt heavy in his boots as he saw the names as they were: piled into a list; a column. Is that how they will be remembered by history? How many lists had he held like this? How many would he hold in the future?

His mind started to return to his body; feeling came back to the hands that gripped the page atop the book Dorian had given him. Cullen looked up to see Dorian and Jim both gone, doors left open. After closing the doors, he went back to his desk, and returned to a door with a throwing knife, piercing the list to the door. 

Cullen didn’t make it to the tavern that night, though Varric had told Dorian it was unlikely anyway. 

He had wanted to socialize, truly, but his mind would always be outside the walls of any tavern, wondering what was happening to those out in the field; if there was something else to do, someone to help. He didn’t want to be disingenuous to the company around him. So he worked. 

The next day, he descended the stairs to get to the training area. Madame Vivienne, Korvyn, and Dorian were leaving the area, having apparently practiced together, though Cullen waited for them to leave. Sera was teasing the Inquisitor over something and he preferred not to draw her attention if he could help it. He still kept a wide berth from the small box addressed to him from her that was left in the corner of his office - It seemed empty, but he wouldn’t risk being wrong.    
A small group of children played by the practice ring; a laughing that hadn’t been heard at Haven, but the refugees brought a little bit of civilization to their operation. He was walking towards Cassandra when a girl blocked his path, holding up her index finger.

“Excuse me,” she said, presenting the finger as if it meant anything.

“What’s this?”

“Splinter.”

“Ah.” 

He looked around, but she stared at him expectantly with finger up. She had run to the first adult she saw to fix the problem, so Cullen fell into step. Even when he had been away from children for so long, growing up as a constant babysitter to siblings and cousins never quite left his instincts. “There,” he concluded after pulling it out, and the girl merely wiped her nose and turned around. 

“You have to be careful . You shouldn’t be by the training ground.” The girl ignored his scolding to bounce up and down on the balls of her feet, watching Cassandra hack into a dummy. Cullen leaned forward on the empty fence ring where she watched, captivated.

"How old are you?"

"Nine."

"When I was your age, I wanted to fight too. I wanted to be a Templar."

"But Templars are the bad people." 

He should have expected that. "What's your name?"

"Robin"

Cullen smiled. She was small and skinny just like the little bird. “Did you come with your parents?”

“They’re gone.”

“I see,” he breathed. “Mine too.”

Robin turned to look him in the face, and her dark eyes moved here and there over his armor. “Are you the Commander?” Cullen nodded. “Can you teach me to be like the Lady Seeker?”

"You're a bit too young for that."

"Then when?"

“Well -”

“I want to be strong like the Lady Seeker.”

"There are other ways of being strong." The child huffed, uninterested. "And other ways to help."

Cassandra had finally seen Cullen and the girl nearby. As she approached, Robin’s eyes grew wider, and once the Seeker caught her eye, the girl ran. 

“A fan of yours,” Cullen explained. 

She wiped her forehead and leaned on the other side of the training circle. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing wrong, only that I wanted to speak to you about the mission with the Lord Seeker.”

“No,  _ what’s wrong _ ?” Her darkly lined eyes slid over to study him. “You’ve locked yourself up again.”

“Only doing what needs to be done, Cassandra.”   
  
  “Hmm.” She decided to drop it. “I could use a moving target, you know, if you allowed yourself free time.”   
   
“I heard Varric already received a bit of that.” He gave a small smirk at her snarl. “Korvyn told me.”

“And I’m sure you knew nothing of this?”   
  
“I only know that Korvyn and Hawke had spoken after the fact, and where you’re going next.” He didn’t mention that he hoped not to run into the Champion. He imagined it would be difficult to leave on good terms.    
     
“Then you know more than me,” she sighed.

“You’ve been working too hard; you’ve been on almost every away team with Korvyn.”

“ _ Me _ ?” Cassandra accused. “Because of his advisors, Korvyn is going to enact many mandatory breaks. He told me this.”

Cullen hadn’t heard that. He didn’t like the idea. 

“Cullen,” she sighed, “I’ll talk to you about the Lord Seeker later. Talk, pray, take a walk -”

“I have been running-”  
  
“ _ Training. _ ” A group with Robin and 3 other children ran past, squealing and making strange sounds. Cassandra raised an eyebrow, but some deep nostalgia tugged a smile onto Cullen’s face as an adult shooed them away from the scaffolding. He had, in some way, missed being around children. They were naturally light-hearted. “It’s okay,” Cassandra added, “to stop sometimes to appreciate what it is we’re fighting for.”

  
  


//

 

Cullen started to take Cassandra’s advice. If Korvyn was going to require breaks anyway, he would have to get used to the idea. There was still the nagging in the back of his mind telling him to be stingy with his time, but he also wanted to get friendly with recruits again besides training, and maybe study Skyhold beyond its advantages and fortifications. It was a beautiful place.    
Coming back from the statue of Andraste, he noticed the overseer of the garden - an elderly elf - setting up a chess set. It was a nice space under the gazebo with the trees giving spotted shade, and the tall living quarters above provided solitude from high winds. 

The overseer greeted him when he approached. “Commander.”

“Do you play?”

“Not for a long time, but we received this as a donation. I thought at first to sell it, but it's a nice outdoor set and we have room for it.” When he saw the way Cullen kept a lingering eye on it, he asked, “Do you care for a game?”

Cullen had work to do, but he knew he had time. It had been a long while for him as well.  As they played, Cullen made small talk and started learning about the garden. Leliana’s scouts had helped in gathering herbs and now they were planning an expansion. They ended the game and started cleaning up when a familiar jovial voice announced itself.

“What's this? The lion is out of his cage?” Dorian stood with arms crossed, observing them. The overseer was quiet, looking between them at Dorian’s casual tone.

“For a time,” Cullen replied. “Would you like to play? Unless the rules are different in Tevinter.” 

“Delighted to.” Dorian lounged into the stone chair, swinging one leg over the other as Cullen leaned forward to prepare the board. “Do you know, I don’t think I’ve played since I was in the Circle?”

“Then I’ll go easy on you.”

“No need.” Dorian grinned at him, and it seemed it would be their perpetual joke to be competitive.   
  
“I’ll take my leave, Commander,” The overseer nodded, retreating. “But be mindful of the snow clouds.” 

“I saw snow on the ground this morning, even though some leaves have still  _ barely _ turned; quite appalling.” Dorian added.   
     
“In these mountains, storms will frequently blow in and melt out quickly.”

“And here I thought I had enough snow at Haven.”   
  
As they started to move pieces, it was interesting for Cullen to see how Dorian played, which was messy. Some pieces were sitting haphazardly on the lines instead of in the squares. He wasn’t sure if it was carelessness or his own strategy.   
  
“Is it very warm in Tevinter?”   
     
“Moderately,” Dorian hummed, ringed fingers hovering over a knight. “But it also depends on where you are. It can get windy in Minrathous as an island city. But they also have fantastic bathhouses with hot springs which is a perfect winter cure. Are there any in Ferelden?”

“Communal bathing?” Cullen chuckled. “Sure. It’s called a lake.”

“Charming.” 

“Check.”

Dorian peered at the board and adjusted a piece accordingly.    
  
“Though you seem to be handling Ferelden just fine,” Cullen commented. Dorian was still impeccably well-groomed with clean, embroidered robes, compared to Cullen’s three-day stubble and worn leathers.    
  
“Well, if I  _ must _ .”    
     
“Do you miss it?”

“I miss aspects of it.”   
     
“But surely. . .” Cullen halted. Was it fair to talk politics?

“Yes, go ahead,” Dorian waved his hand, “I can tell you have questions.”

“It’s a very rich country from what I’ve heard, but, won’t it also benefit the country to end slavery? Or is prejudice still so engrained?”

“It’s not just prejudice, my dear Commander, it’s class.”

“As a magocracy.”

“Yes. Your worst nightmare, probably.”

Cullen didn’t respond to that. It was a rabbit hole of thought he didn’t want to tumble down.    
     
“I’ve already warned Korvyn about being careful with the power he wields.”

“You think that would be an issue?”

“Not with him, no, but my homeland is a cautionary tale. Not only about achieving power, but wielding  _ physical _ power.” His brown hand came up to rub his chin in thought. “The wealth is blinding, though I fear it’s very high on a toppling point. Many who travel to Tevinter are even surprised at how well dressed the slaves are.”

Cullen could not suppress a scoff. “I’d hardly think it’s worth it.”

Dorian glanced up. “Fair enough, if someone has the choice to do so. Back home, a poor man can sell himself. As a slave, he could achieve comfort and could even support a family. Some slaves are treated poorly, true enough, but is inescapable poverty better?”

"What do you know about poverty?” It came out sharp, and Cullen felt a flush as Dorian’s eyebrow lifted. He lowered his voice, but he couldn’t help it from being steely. “My entire family were farmers and traders. You think it's shameful to be poor? Or better to be a slave?"

“Did I say that?”

Cullen raised his eyes to Dorian’s, which tried to read him. “I'd rather the choice to toil land and live through bad winters - and control my life as I saw fit, than  _ ever _ be in the cushy confines as another man's slave."

"But you think it's shameful to be a slave?"

"I think it's shameful to be a slaver. Or to own a person. How can you possibly speak for them about what they would want?”

“I’m not speaking for anybody.” Dorian’s own voice did not cut, but rather, had smooth control. “Funny, it’s a lesson your Chantry is still learning about mages.”

“An excellent deflection. ”

“Is it? ” 

“We’ve already established the Circles had faults-”

“More than  _ faults _ -”

“But it didn’t matter what anyone  _ wanted _ ; It was about duty. Our methods were harsh, but they kept people safe.”

“ _ Who _ was safe, exactly? Templars?”

“The families that were never set upon by rogue magic or demon possession -  _ We _ weren’t safe. We were trapped in there.“ The game was forgotten in front of them. “And then Kirkwall became a war zone; It was impossible to leave if you wanted to. When you see the corruption happening and you’re already a slave to-” He stopped mid-sentence, the anger on Cullen’s faced passed with controlled temperance. Dorian had a curious look on his face. “There’s no need for this.”

“I agree.”

Cullen stood quickly, wanting to get another word in, but he shook his head instead and started straight back for his office. Others moved out of his way as he walked with purpose, finally letting out an anxious breath when he closed the door behind him. Cullen could scarcely believe how much it bothered him. He strangely wanted to go back and continue the argument while he had plenty of steam to do so, but he also didn't want to fuel the fire. Dorian was an intelligent man – surely he could change his mind?

Though, Dorian wasn’t standing up for slavery. But he did feel that a person had a choice to be one.  _ Some choice _ . And he didn’t need to be told about how things were in the Circle - he knew that. He lived it! He . . . remembered Dorian’s words from a while ago: “ _ Is that all it takes to throw our Commander off guard? _ ” 

Cullen took a breath. It was true, how easy it could be to rumple his feathers, depending on the subject. He had to learn to rein it back, save it for training. No matter how he tried to detach himself from the Order he would always be associated with them. It had been his entire life. . . gone rabid, and cut down. If Cullen had been born in Tevinter, he might have been one of those resorted to slavery, and if Dorian had been born in Ferelden, he would have been too rebellious in the Circles. . . They were only in advantageous positions by their countries’ own prejudices. After signing a few papers for Jim, he decided to walk the ramparts to freshen his mind in the cold wind. 

He had to focus on Corypheus, on Samson, on Korvyn’s upcoming departure.

After reaching one corner, he was surprised to see Varric up there talking to a woman with her back turned. 

“Oh, hi Curly.”

At Varric’s nickname, the woman turned, and Cullen knew that now was the time to test his mettle. "Aw, Good Ole' Cull! Did you miss me?" There was a blurred line of familiarity and animosity in her tone. "Wow, you look different. Healthier, even. Washed the Kirkwall right off o' you."

"Ser Hawke."

"All grown up and out of the Order." She crossed her arms and shifted weight. "It's like old times - if you don't mind standing aside and letting a mage do the work."

"If you mean to provoke me,” Cullen deadpanned, “I have no interest." 

Hawke whistled. “Alright.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Seems like things are changing up in a good way, anyhow. I like your Inquisitor.” She turned back to Varric. “The Hero of Ferelden, and now the Inquisitor - both mages going to save Ferelden. It’s almost. . . ”

“Poetic irony?” Varric gave Cullen a sympathetic look.

“Divine justice, maybe. Maker save us. Right Cull?”

Cullen didn’t respond. 

“Look, okay, I got my jabs in.” Hawke leaned against the parapet, careful not to be seen. “But this is important to me. I’ll do my part to help but I also just want to get back to my own life, and let the Inquisitor do his own fancy rift sealing to solve this issue.” She glanced down, taking a peek at the people going about their daily tasks. “But also no need to mention I’m still here, right?” 

At least Cullen could agree with that. “Alright.”

Hawke looked past his shoulder, and Cullen turned as well. “Is that mage looking for  _ you _ ?”

Sure enough, Dorian was on the bridge between his office and the rotunda in his velvet robes, standing by the door, but not knocking. Cullen looked to the two of them, but they had been having their own conversation earlier, so he took his leave. 

When he opened the bridge entrance to see Dorian mid-knock, the mage took a step back in surprise. “Ah,” he breathed, “I’d been meaning to. . . ”

“Yes?” Cullen still stood on the threshold of the door, wanting to invite him in, but Dorian seemed to take it as hostility.

He sighed. “Maybe another time. I’m not sure I can stomach more southern honesty right now.”

“And I can’t stomach excuses, but maybe it’s something we should hear anyway.”

Dorian cocked his head, but as Cullen stood aside, he entered. 

“Maker, is that a hole in your roof?” Dorian asked. In the strong light of day, beams of sun came in through the slats and down the ladder. 

“It can be fixed later.”

“Are those the remnants, there?” Dorian gestured to the pile of wood in the corner, and as soon as Cullen replied, Dorian pulled his arms upward, with a groan as if carrying an invisible load. The wood lifted into the air, seemingly weightless, and quickly reattached to the top floor roof with a clatter.    
“I - Thank you.” Cullen stared at Dorian wide-eyed, who hadn’t broken a sweat. Dust floated in the air from the travel of broken slats, and the continued whistling he had been accustomed to was gone. 

“Reparation spell,” Dorian explained. “It won’t hold for longevity, but at least it will stay until you can get that properly fixed.”

“Oh.”

“Well,” Dorian concluded, as if to make a quick exit. 

“Hold on,” Cullen started. He leaned back on his desk, crossing his arms with a sigh. “I feel like, maybe, we might need to understand each other. That is. . . I’m very accustomed to mages disliking me on principle, and sometimes I need the reminder why.”

"You had a knee-jerk reaction to your former comrades. I quite understand."

"It's not an excuse for the choices I’ve made. "

“No, not for me either.” Dorian stretched his neck. “There's still a lot for me to learn here in the South."

"Oh?" Cullen held his gaze.

Dorian sighed. " _ Very well. _ If I could change the structure of Tevinter to stop those abhorrent methods, I would. But I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“That’s no reason to defend it.”

“You’re right.” He shrugged. “I may be too uninformed to be making sweeping statements. Either on slavery or southern Circles.”

Now Cullen sighed. “No, it  _ was _ bad.”

“I know. I was trying to be gracious.”

Cullen was surprised into a smile. “You couldn’t let it lie.”

“Not a chance.” Dorian slipped a small grin. “You thought we would have a mature, adult conversation? I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

Cullen felt relief wash over him, though he wasn’t sure why it had mattered so much. “Do you want to finish that game?”

 

//

 

“You're thinking too much in the moment.”

“I think on my toes; that's what I do.”

“Not in chess.”

Dorian nicked another pawn off the board when Cullen finally mentioned it. “If you think cheating is going to help you, you just opened the way for my rook.”

“What cheating? It’s a Tevinter move.”

“ _ Very _ Tevinter.”  
  
Dorian grinned at the dig, but Cullen let it all slide. It was like the man saw it more of a challenge with the disadvantage.  _ So how much will he let me get away with?  _ Dorian wondered. “Did you finish that library book I brought you?”

“Yes, I looked through it. Though it had many of the older famous keeps, Skyhold wasn’t in it.”

“Hmm. Seemed dry reading.”

“It can be.” Cullen smiled. “But I used to love adventure books when I was back in training.”

“Like those old Chevalier series?”

“And the _Adventures of Ser Dorvin_.”

“Don’t tell me you read that.”

“I loved it!” There was a different cadence in Cullen’s voice and a smile that completely changed his face. Dorian felt, genuinely, as if Cullen was talking to him as a friend rather than a colleague. The Commander composed himself, but not by too much. “I must have been, maybe,fourteen? To someone who hadn’t read anything like it before, it was fantastic.”

“Terrible,” Dorian added. “How could you forgive the plot hole of the Chantry Sister?”

“You read it!” 

They soon finished the game, Cullen sharing the terribly cheesy hero books he loved as a boy, while Dorian delightedly ripped them to shreds - after having to confess that he had read them too. Dorian had to clear the board this time, after his third consecutive loss.

“Dorian?”

“Mm?”

“Let’s meet up for chess more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:_  
> I know there is a lot of contemplation going on in this chapter rather than action; sorry about that, but this IS slow burn and at least PLOT is going to happen from here. The recuperation within Skyhold was very hard to write as a transitioning chapter for some reason, especially after my own illness had me down. The next chapter is. . . also very long.  
> -I added that Cullen saw Samson on the field of battle, because that makes way more sense than recognizing him on a literal mountain top . . .  
> -We have also seen our mage characters make ramshackle bridges from wood lying around in the wilderness; someone could fix Cullen’s roof for god’s sake!  
> -Sorry, I know I throw in random OCs from time to time, but I’ve always been extremely curious about the people who come to Skyhold; refugees, orphans, mages, ex-templars, traders, devotees of Andraste. Seems more unrealistic to leave them out.


	6. Open the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of those still reading! I appreciate you and hope I can continue to entertain.

As soon as Korvyn left for Crestwood, a storm crept its way over the mountain. A pleasant rain hit Skyhold, giving the castle a much needed wash and, as far a Dorian was concerned, a cozy hush over the library. There was little love lost when it came to rain, but the way it changed the mood into one of leisure was very welcome. As Dorian read spell theory on healing magic through mid afternoon, it began to beat a hard and distracting rap against the window pane. It was very gray, and some of the paler clouds predicted a very cold night. 

He decided to turn in early, where, in the warmer confines of his room, he could practice some healing magic on sore muscles from the last day’s practice. He thought to cut through the upper Great Hall, usually just nodding to Madame de Fer as he passed. 

“Dorian, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?” Although perhaps today was different. He turned to Vivienne when addressed, and she was regal as ever in warm cream robes, lit beautifully with the rainy backdrop. Cold crept in from the large windows, and Dorian was feeling some of the chill already. No matter, as she always cut straight to the point. 

"I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time around our Commander."

"Have you?"

“Don’t be coy, my dear.”

Dorian open his palms in a gesture of transparency. “I wasn’t aware I was being monitored even as I played chess. Is spying a normal hobby?” Was this still a thing that was going to happen even after having gone on missions together? 

Vivienne merely smiled pleasantly at his tone. “There’s no need to be defensive, darling. I was merely stating an observation.”

“One I’m sure you have many opinions about, otherwise you would not have stopped me to hear them.” She gave him a look he found condescending yet assuring, as if he really was rushing to conclusions. He only gave a noncommittal wave of a hand to let her continue. 

“You seem think I’m quick to judge, but I’ve no reason to be apprehensive unless you give me one, my dear.”

Dorian was still finding a hard camaraderie around Vivienne. They had much in common on the surface, but the unity of prestigious magehood didn’t offer much else. Higher bred skepticism of motives naturally made them raise defenses around each other, finding the ground uneven in their dance. After all, he found that Vivienne had to fight tooth and nail to get power and protection she was desperate to keep, while Dorian had been born with so much of it that enemies wanted to pull the bricks beneath him to make him topple. He could not blame her suspicion in why he would give away something that she had struggled so carefully to attain. In the end, it was the fact that they were political tacticians that kept them safe.

She took a seat to indicate a queue, one he didn’t follow in favor of standing. He wasn’t going to linger. “Do you know much about southern fraternities, Dorian?”

“I can’t say I do. Loyalists and revolutionaries or something of the sort. I imagine it’s a nice puppet-show of power for southern mages.”

“It can absolutely be a mockery of power, without reform,” she said calmly. “Mages had their own way of governing their Circles, and Templars kept to their own. It should have always been a balance, but,” Her slight hands moved in a graceful gesture to illustrate ‘ _ You know how that turned out, _ ’“Templars will always be different from us, my dear. We pull from the fade, and they take it away.”

“What point are you getting to, exactly? This almost seems a strange warning of solidarity between mages.”

“How curious that you would assume I would warn you against a Templar,” she said, highly amused. It was easy for her to bait him along with the implications he pulled from her words, and it reminded him that he had been out of the Game for a while. “They may be scattered now,” Vivienne went on, “but Templars still have a part to play.”

“There are no Templars, unless they’re red.”

“I believe there are many who might take up the call again, if given the chance.” 

Suddenly the implications became much more clear. “Ah, this about my dirty Tevinter politics affecting the Commander.”

“Dorian, there’s no need to be so dramatic. I’m sure our Commander can think for himself, and he seems to truly have left the Order behind.”

But he was still a potential ally in her mind for helping the Circles, which had always been her goal. Dorian himself didn’t know if Cullen was still any much of a loyalist, despite saying how disastrous his experiences in the Circles had been. If he merely wanted  _ reform _ . . . 

“Since you consider him a friend, I only suggest to keep an open mind on what he might have to say about the matter.”

“If that’s all,” he said, stepping away with a polite bow. 

"You ought to ask Cullen,” she smiled, “where he came by that distinctive scar."

Dorian wondered briefly what that had to do with anything, but why mention it unless the story of the thing served a purpose to the conversation? Surely, with her connections in the South, it was impossible to know how easy it was to access information. Perhaps only Leliana could coordinate more. 

When he walked to the balcony to his quarters, the hard rain had turned to hail, and he ran, almost slipping to his door, pelted by ice. “Bloody weather.”

  
  


//

In the war room, the water running down the long windows left mottled shadows over the map. Leliana poured over several papers, speaking to Cullen as he paced while Josephine took notes.

“Korvyn thought you would want to make the decision for yourself.”

“There are Templars who resisted?”

“It’s hard to tell how they are still affiliated, but yes, it seems the war had them scattered; too disorganized to be enveloped in Corypheus’ plans. Amongst them are:” she read from a report, “A Knight-Captain Rylen from Starkhaven and a Ser Barris from Therinfall Redoubt, who has useful information about what happened there.”   
“I know the former well,” Cullen smiled in surprise. “Rylen helped me in Kirkwall after the rebellion - he was my second in command for a while, an excellent officer. I’m glad to hear he’s alright. I can talk with the latter as well.”

“Better to be scooped up by us, then attacked or lead astray,” Josephine added.

“I agree.” The Order was too fractured for there to be reformation at this point, and a part of Cullen hoped it might be impossible. At least the Inquisition could be a replacement for them, and not a placeholder for some future shadow of a Templar Order, still hooked to lyrium. It would, perhaps, be forever stained red. 

 

The weather continued to be relentless the following few days; a waterlogged parchment of an update from Korvyn confirmed that the weather was terrible in Crestwood as well, and that highwaymen were making things a little more difficult than they needed to be. At Skyhold, some rituals had to be halted, training shortened, and makeshift clotheslines started to prop in some of the towers. 

With many birds being kept in unless for urgent matters, a lot of news was not coming in, and Cullen was having less to do. After finding routine in playing chess, he was now three days without it and his mind was jumping from place to place to find distraction. His chair was so filled with papers he couldn’t sit in it, and every corner of his desk was piled with a random assortment of books. Different inks and sealing waxes were overstuffed on a bookshelf and ashy braziers lined black stains of smoke up the walls. Looking around, he knew he needed a change in scenery, or else make a larger mess in his need to keep busy. 

It was already snowing when he crossed the bridge to the rotunda. Opening the door brought in a draft of snowflakes, but the warmth came over him quickly. He eyed Solas’ impressive painting that was on hold and proceeded up the stairs. 

It was odd to see Dorian unobserved at a table. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice that anyone watched, or could see how hard he worked. He always seemed to keep himself in check for a public audience at all times, and as Cullen approached quietly he looked more serious than he could ever remember seeing him. The intensity of his scrutiny was quite striking, with lined eyes narrowed and mind at work. He was pouring over three books at once, looking from one to the next, perhaps comparing ideas. His face of concentration seemed like the book had personally insulted him, mouth slightly open, then closing, as if several conversations were passing in his mind as he absorbed the information.

Looking down to his fingers, he put them together as if pinching salt, then did the same on the other hand, drawing them together. Cullen watched as Dorian furrowed his brow, with a spark appearing where the fingers met. Dorian drew them apart slowly, a hair-thin sparkle of electricity transferred between the two points, perfectly controlled and lighting his face a stark blue. He flicked his fingers and the line erupted in sparks. 

His serious face gained more concentration as he sighed to himself and stared back down to the books, pushing a hand into his thick hair. A raven squawked overhead, and it was then that Dorian's eyes swept up to see Cullen. A look of surprise passed for a fleeting second until a smile fixed itself. "Oh," Dorian swept a hand through his hair which lifted a bit in static. "Commander, to what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked with an easy grin, falling into a more relaxed posture.

Cullen walked forward as if he hadn't been standing there a while. "I don’t mean to interrupt,”

“No, no, research is rather my go-to.” He stretched gracefully and leaned forward over the books. “But if you’ve a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Now that Cullen was under Dorian’s gaze, a nagging of uncertainty reminded him that they usually spent time together over a test of wits and there was no guarantee that he would want to do anything as boring as sit and talk with him to pass the time. “I . . . didn’t want to get snowed into my own office, though I don’t think the chessboard is still an available option.”

“No?” Dorian asked with mock incredulity. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Commander?”

“Probably under a glass of mead at this rate.”

Dorian laughed. “Are you finally taking me up on that drink? Though, if ever there were a time for the tavern to become a cesspit of debauchery and bad singing, it would be on a snowy evening.” At Cullen’s expression, he added: ”I have a better idea.” He stood, quickly closing and piling the books at the table. When he moved to pat Cullen’s shoulder in a gesture to follow, a sharp pang of electricity ran through him. Cullen gasped quickly and Dorian pulled his hand back.

“Oh! Sorry about that,” he rubbed his fingers “A lightning spell earlier wasn’t fully discharged. The iron-”

“-attracts lightning.” He knew that from his Templar training.

“You’ll be fine now, look,” Dorian placed his hand on his iron pauldron to assure him. 

“Getting cheap shots in now?” He smirked.

“ _ Honestly, _ ” Dorian drawled, and Cullen enjoyed when he got a little peevish. “You’re a veritable lightning rod, and you ask me that question? Trust me, you’d know.”

“Of course.” Cullen said.“Your insistence is very convincing.”

“Oh, you’ll be sorry if you test me.” Dorian smirked back, but a shuffling made them turn. Fiona was looking at them curiously as she pulled a book from the shelf. Perhaps they were being a bit loud. Any time Cullen was in the presence of the former Grand Enchanter, he fell solemn. Dorian was quick to lead him away by the arm.

 

Dorian had prepared to sneak into the wine cellar, telling Cullen all about the sadistic guard and building up a strategy, when Cullen merely approached the guard, told him what he was taking, and left with no objection. Dorian seemed delighted to have one up over the guard.

“I need to bring you with me more often,” he smirked. “He’s been giving me trouble for  _ weeks _ now-”

“Josephine has you barred from the cellar.”

“ _ What? _ ” Dorian turned around, but quieted as they moved through the kitchen. “That’s outrageous! For what reason?”

“For making off with fourteen bottles of vintage.”

“. . . Only fourteen?” he mused. “Of course.  _ Fourteen _ .”

“I’m sure if you returned some, she would be merciful.” When Dorian opened the back door of the kitchen to grounds near the stables, the snow had coated the ground in a fine layer. Dorian groaned at the sight of it, but continued down the stairs. “Where are we going, by the way?” Cullen asked.

“Back to your office to drink this, of course.” Dorian lifted his bottle in the air, and lead the way with clean steps crunching in the snow.

“I can tell it’s going to storm tonight. You remember I mentioned not wanting to get snowed in?”

“And do  _ you _ remember,” he called behind, “how this  _ very hand _ can melt snow? It’s a bit of a big deal down here.”

 

//

 

Once they were up the stairs, Dorian let himself into the side-door of his office. 

“Maker, is this what the inside of your mind looks like?” Dorian commented, looking at the disarray. “Or did your coat create a den one day while you were away?” 

Cullen picked up the papers off his chair, piling them into a crate of more paper. As he did that, Dorian pulled a spare chair over from the corner and placed it in front of the desk. 

“There, let's at least have space for the prize.” He placed the bottle on the table, but Cullen went to the almost extinguished braziers. As he got to work on it with a flint and spare parchment, Dorian nonchalantly cracked his knuckles. 

“I can do it,” Cullen said, working at the flint for a moment, until he finally sighed and grabbed a candle from his desk instead.

“This is cute.”

“Yes, I’m sure it is.” The paper lit, and the flame attached to the coals. Cullen was walking back to his desk when he looked back down to the candle in his hand, probably  realizing he had never lit it. He looked up to see, in fact, all of the candles in the room were lit, giving the office a warm glow on the dark evening. 

“‘Magic exists to serve,’ you know.”

Cullen took a seat and they both got to work uncorking the bottles. “Is it as easy as you make it look? The fire?” Dorian smelled the fumes of the bottle and hummed happily before placing it directly to his lips. Ah, but Antivans made good wine. Cullen continued. “From what I recall, some mages spent a long time perfecting how to hold a controlled flame.”   
“Mm, like anything, it depends on the mage.” He took another sip and rested the bottle in his lap. This was one he would enjoy a while. “I’m not sure how to describe it to a non-mage. It’s a lot more than thinking something into existence; more like knowing it will be there when you look down. You learn to draw the Fade right - and I mean directly - to your hands. I burned my fingers quite a few times, early on. Not too badly, but it's an easy thing to do for beginners. I was nine - very early - when I started showing signs of magic. Of course, a mage should have a rounded education in as many elements as possible, but most have a propensity for types."

"And yours is fire, like the Inquisitor?"

"Precisely. One learns how to control the elements, though one type generally comes naturally. My mother believed it had all to do with my temper, but I think it's more to do with wanting childish destruction." It had been unorthodox to go to the Circles at his age, rather than have a tutor first, but he was rambunctious and his parents thought it would be better for him. And, perhaps, to save the antique furniture. 

"You had a temper? I might have assumed with your education that you had a strict upbringing."

"Well, yes, all the more reason to rebel, of course! I'm sure you've noticed that it can't be helped.” Cullen took a taste from his own bottle and his eyes scrunched shut. “Here, you can try mine instead.”

“No, no, I’m not much for wine. This is just very sweet.” He took a smaller sip of mead with a smaller wince, and Dorian tapped their bottles together before he continued.

“My father had encouraged it for a while. Being aggressive was a way to ensure a status of superiority, he imagined. But then I started getting kicked out of Circles and my rebellion turned towards him."

" _ Kicked out _ ? Such a thing could happen?"

"Absolutely. Circles are prestigious, remember." There was a nostalgic smile on his face. He could only laugh about it now in a safe space compared to how far he had come, when it had used to hurt so badly. "I'm an Altus, was the youngest brat there, son of an important Magister, so everyone wanted to try their hand at me. I had to prove my worth. Honestly, for years it gave me good practice on theoretical spells, so by the end of it, I was twitching for people to challenge me - just to let loose something experimental with that aggression. What a way for energetic teenagers to express themselves. It started in self-defense, but I became a bit of a bully."

"Now that you tell the story, it's not terribly hard to believe."

Dorian propped his elbow onto the desk from his chair. “And I suppose you were the model student?”

“I was. Well, I loved my training, which made me better at it. We’re never to seek glory in our deeds, only to serve. To complete orders, even strict ones, made my superiors happy, which made me happy. In many aspects, I like to please.” Dorian slid a sly eye over to the Commander, smiling under his fist, but he wasn’t going to touch the potential of that sentence.

“It doesn’t come off as self-righteous?”

“If you think you’re above others. But you’re only as good as the slowest person in your unit. We had to work as a team. With power must come humility.”

“Sounds terrible.”

Cullen chuckled. “It would be for you.” But the humor was fleeting on his face, as if imaging Dorian in a southern Circle was no laughing matter. Dorian didn’t want to think about it either. "Hold on, though. You mentioned experimental spells earlier?"

"Well of course. In your Circle they didn’t-?" Cullen looked at him blankly. " _ Vishante Kaffa _ s, of course they didn’t. At least Korvyn mentioned some groundwork for that in his Circle, even if it was mostly rune-work. To be properly knowledgeable about magic, we were to know how it worked on a fundamental level and then apply our own projects to different spells."

“Your own spellwork?”

"Nothing too complicated at that age, you know, just practices in creativity. It’s strangely hard to draw water from the Fade - it’s slippery - so it was a small trend at one Circle to practice mixing ice with fire to make water spells. More flashy than practical, as using boiling water would not be more potent than fire, and to use water in a concentrated area to drown someone on land would take too long."

Dorian found himself very amused as Cullen tried to stifle his shock at the idea of teenagers using drowning spells. "And, did you-?" he asked.

"No, I was trying to use magic for small spells, like book-hovering and page turning without lifting a finger. A  _ lot _ harder than it sounds," he added defensively, as Cullen began to chuckle, "considering wielding magic for small tasks is like hitting a house nail with a warhammer."

"And it seems you never finished that spell, as your books are all quite stationary." Cullen grinned, leaning back in his chair.

"I'll have you know I did - eventually. But it used too much mana to be practical."

"So your peers were blasting boiling water at people and you were working on a page-turning spell? More harmless than I would think."

"My High Enchanter thought so too. You'll notice many mages in the field already use a spell to keep their books stationary in front of them, but precision to flip pages would be useful. I sent in my prospectus and he refused it, saying it was 'impractical nonsense below my caliber.' I was very sore about it, so when exams came around, I had morphed a firewall spell and created a lava pit. "

Cullen was surprised into laughing again, and Dorian was finding it infectious. 

"Top marks for application of an advanced spell, but chastised for structural damage dealt to the silverite-inlaid floor. They had to have it replaced; very expensive. But also very much worth the sweat off my brow."

"Unbelievable. And yet, I can somehow imagine a younger you having the nerve to do it."

"I think the Vyrantium Circle was glad to be rid of me when I left, but perhaps alarmed that it was for the  _ mortalitasi _ ." He had eventually, thankfully, made it into the Minrathous Circle in time to be prepared for his Harrowing. He had felt more at home there than any place in Qarinus. 

“Is that where you studied necromancy?” It was a very polite question, considering Dorian knew the Commander looked down on the subject. Chantry mandate always demanded cremated dead, but as far as Dorian was concerned, cremation could always come after.

“Yes and no. . .many  _ mortalitasi _ are miserly with their secrets, you see. It was a lot of independent study and no one would fund me to go to Nevarra.”

“What gravitated you to such an. . . esoteric field?”

“For the glamorous stench of death, obviously.”   
“No straight answer, then,” he said with a swig. Always so quick to call out his deflections, this Commander. Dorian let his eyes linger over his jaw and neck as he swallowed. "The Circles you describe are just so. . . different from anything I could have imagined."

"Even by mage standards. Last time I mentioned any of my training to Madame de Fer, her face went pinched. To Southerners, magic is seen as extremely dangerous, and it can be. Whereas here it's seen as children running around with sharp knives, in Tevinter it's seen more as children with sticks, it  _ could _ do damage, yes, but one needs the creativity and learned skill to craft it into a weapon. "

"But it seems you  _ were _ the child who knew how to do that."

"Ha, well, by that time we're usually disciplined not to attack each other. And because the Enchanters who oversee everything are so practiced, they keep low level spells from children under control quite easily. When one is a young mage and the people around  have a deep understanding of magic, it's easily handled; not seen as a menace."

As Dorian took longer pulls from his wine, he could truly enjoy where he was in the moment. He was safe from the elements, warm, the center of attention with a rapt listener and a fine bottle of wine. He scrunched his hand to lower the flamelight a bit. Small spells pulled a bit at his mana, but he never minded.

"It's very interesting; the way you casually use magic," Cullen remarked. The candlelight suited him very well, Dorian thought idly. Being under the study of his amber eyes was quite pleasing.

"I have noticed other mages looking at me funny when I do, but they have their reasons. Korvyn told me he only recently started to be more nonchalant about it all. Good for him, in that sense."

"I can see why, now. . .the way you speak of magic is with so much pride. It's only with Korvyn as Inquisitor that so many mages no longer have to hide as apostates, and even so, many are afraid to wield magic so swiftly. Have you thought of taking part in training some of the mages again?"

"Oh, Madame de Fer still does that from time to time and garners a lot of respect. I don't imagine I'd get as warm a reception."

"You'd be surprised. Your own confidence and skill in magic may help them to feel better about what they can do for the Inquisition."

"Oh, do go on." Dorian smiled and leaned forward on the desk. Cullen hated when he got smug, so he played it up.

Cullen couldn't help but color a little. "I just mean, some looks of curiosity aren't all bad. You were very successful last time. . . They may think you have something you could show them, and they'd be right."

“Mm, yes, all of that blood magic knowhow from the Venatori agents they've been whispering about me knowing."

"Surely that’s a minority opinion by now."

“Does anyone truly know their own reputation?”

“At least until they kindly remind you.” 

Dorian gave a small laugh, “Quite right.” But in seeing Cullen’s expression, he realized the man was being sincere rather than sarcastic.

". . .Erm, did it ever come up?"

"Blood magic? "

"Not that you’d learn it, but-?"

"No, I know what you mean." He waved a hand in dismissal. "It's rife in the Imperium behind closed doors, even to those who would condemn it." He felt his own expression stiffen, but he wouldn’t let his mind go down that path. "But, we do learn  _ of _ blood magic; of course we were forbidden from it. Rather like a bad sexual education. ‘ _ Here’s what it is, but don’t do it! _ ’"

“They-” Cullen’s eyes moved away from Dorian’s face “They teach that?”

_ Come back here _ , Dorian thought, “Sorry, did I say ‘education?’’Prevention’ is a more accurate term. So if it eases your mind, no, I’ve never used blood magic and don’t intent to. Anyway, a lot of the really fun stuff happens in apprenticeship."

Cullen nodded, "Are you talking about necromancy, or Magister Alexius?"

“Necromancy was a specialization; time magic, however, was a development.” Dorian's boasting smile softened. "It was exciting work, before it got out of hand." Now his own eyes were wandering. "It was all new; so new that there was no canon to lean back on, very little research all dead before coming to fruition. Until  _ we _ started making those connections. All of it was still just,” He waved a hand, stirring up words in his mind. “Theory. There was no known way to make it work, and I had no real intention to make it work, considering it would have been a very dangerous success. Then, of course, Alexius was starting to look far beyond theory, and I admit, the potential was alluring, so I helped  its inception." He drummed his fingers along the bottle in his grip. "I can still use it,” he confessed, “for the Inquisition. I'll use it until this mess with Corypheus is handled, but I do know it's too dangerous in the wrong hands. It should all be scrapped." He looked back to Cullen for his expression "But it's nice to feel, well. . ."

"Appreciated."

"Yes," Dorian smiled at him.

Cullen leaned into his own fist on the table. "After Kirkwall, everything I had known had fallen to pieces. The Inquisition. . . it's given a lot of us a new start."

"Ha, or an end."

"Maybe."

Dorian had said it as a practical truth, but Cullen met it with optimism. Perhaps Cullen expected them all to die taking out Corypheus, and would deem it a success to defeat him at all, never mind survivors.

It was strange for Dorian to feel, looking at this man, that maybe it didn't have to end. Maker willing, they would all survive, and isn't that something? A thought, small and stretched, knew that Dorian had a future that may continue in or outside of Tevinter, and a foggy hope persisted that he could remain friends with these people. With the Inquisitor, absolutely, as such a figurehead of power; an idol that would go down in history as either a failure or a hero and Dorian would weather it with him. But what of the others? Cullen never spoke of writing to anyone; he barely mentioned having siblings.

It went without saying that to open the door to relationships, people would come in, but they would always be able to leave. For the most part, Dorian tried to keep that door closed. No one would leave him if he never let them in. He had expected friendships would come with knocking or even trying to burst through, but it seemed instead that he had carelessly left the doors ajar all this time and these miscreants could abscond with his feelings at any time. Worse, what if they didn't leave alive? A weight started to pool in his heart at the thought. “Strangely, I haven’t thought much about what could happen after.”

“I imagine many plan to return to their life before the Breach.”

"Yes, well. Hopefully not too soon."

"I'm not going anywhere." It was amazing how those few words dispelled his worry. Dependable, stubborn, foolhardy Cullen.

"Well certainly not in this snow."

Cullen glanced out the window and noticed the snow piled up the ledge. “Oh, do you need to get back to your room?”

Dorian stretched and stood. “I don’t  _ need _ to. I could talk about myself until morning if you let me.”

Cullen stood up as well, but his hand shot up to rub his temple in a circle.

“Are you ill?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Cullen replied, almost too quickly. “Just a headache.”

“Well then, presuming we’re not all buried under snow, I’ll see you tomorrow. You won’t need me to clear away snow in the morning, will you?”

“I’m sure I could get a shovel.” He said gravely. “Maybe a stick of spare wood already in here could clear the door.”

“ _ A stick _ .” Dorian let his disdain be known. He had a ridiculous image of the Commander trying to dig his way out of his office with a plank of wood, when Cullen laughed. Dorian caught on. “Oh, you’re enjoying this too much.”

“You’re easy to bait,” Cullen smirked, “since you assume we’re all helpless. We’ll have paths cleared early morning.”

“But you mentioned getting snowed in?”

“Well yes, the clearing happens early. I like to wander for fresh air.”

“In the snow? How is it I can mingle easily at Orlesian courts and Tevinter balls, yet Fereldens are beyond me?” Dorian wondered aloud. 

They parted ways, and Dorian flung his hand in front of him to slice snow into water and fling it from his path. He did notice that he wasn’t as cold as he used to be at Haven, and wondered if it was the alcohol, or if his blood was getting thicker.

 

//   
It was funny to Dorian how necromancy was simultaneously alarming and yet brushed off amongst his comrades. They found it abhorrent, dark, mysterious,“gross,” and they would say so, yet it wasn’t often questioned  _ why _ he had provocations for such an art. Solas’ study of the rift made sense to them, as did Madame de Fer’s knightly prowess, but Necromancy seemed to be just one more eccentricity of a foreigner - a strange art which was macabre just like Tevinter itself. Where did Dorian begin and the Tevinter end, in their minds? He wondered, if his comrades ever traveled that far north, whether they would be surprised by how often the things they suspected of being Tevinter Culture were in fact Dorian Culture.

But for all of his skill in tempting spirits of death to a corpse, he wondered if his own proficiencies would hold him back. The spirits found him smelling too strongly of death to approach for healing purposes. The more he practiced, the more he realized it was slow-going, as he would have to carefully cajole its activation rather than force the spell to his will. The only way for non-born healers to work with mending and aiding was to simply practice, and spirit healing would draw a stronger response. He was quickly getting frustrated with the sluggish reply to hard work.

After Dorian had left Cullen’s office that evening, he found that it was still early enough in the evening to practice healing magic. He didn’t have much to practice  _ on _ , however, and tried to study it some more. Many of the suggestions were for Spirit Healers proper, rather than individual healing spells, but Dorian persisted. He wanted a short-cut. Surely. . . since the Death Siphon spell redirected energy from the enemy to the caster, it was a sort of healing spell. Well, robbing health from another person. Could he rob health from himself to give to another? It was using Necromancy to heal, but it was not healing magic. Frustrated, he went to bed early, and rose early - for his standards.

As Cullen had said, much of the snow had been cleared for pathways around Skyhold, and the sun was brightly melting away some of it into slush. 

Jim was loitering outside Cullen’s office, overlooking the entrance to the castle. 

“The Commander is not awake?” Dorian asked.

“Erm, I suppose he is, Ser. But I’m not to disturb him until he opens his door to me. His orders. Though, he is late today.”

“And here I thought you left messages all times of the day.” Dorian approached the door, when Jim added: “Not until after mid-morning. Inquisitor’s orders.”

“Yes, but their orders to you don’t apply to me.”

Jim looked disgruntled at that. “I wouldn’t recommend it, Ser.”

All Dorian had to do was push the handle and it opened. “Fancy that.” It would have been unusual to keep the door unlocked, unless he had never gone to sleep. Yet when Dorian  poked his head in, the Commander wasn’t in sight. He stepped inside, leaving Jim with disapproving huffs and orders that required him to stay outside. 

Besides the darkness of extinguished candles, the office was much the same as Dorian had seen it last, so he lit them with a controlled flex of the hand. The bottles were even still on his desk. Oh, but it would be fun if he found Cullen hung over. Though he hadn’t seemed particularly affected. 

“Are you up there, Commander?” Dorian called up the ladder. No reply. “You had better show your face if you don’t want me coming up there. ” He could still hear only the faintest rustle. Well, that was something.

“Right,” Dorian called, and made his way up, somewhat nervous about how far he could push curiosity as being an excuse for potentially violating the Commander’s privacy. ”If I find you bare-arsed, it’s not my fault. I gave ample warning.”

Spying his head over the entrance showed a much different and tidier room than the one below. Where the office was the explosion of Cullen’s thoughts, the bedroom was sparse and organized. The bed, however, was where Cullen lay prone, still in his armor and sweating with a grimace.

“Maker, you  _ are _ ill.” Dorian hurried up and over to examine him. His hand went to Cullen’s damp forehead. Not good. Cullen trembled beneath Dorian's touch, feverish like a man in the throes of a deep sickness.    
“I’ll get a healer,” Dorian assured him.

“ _ Don’t, _ ” a whisper was all that could come out.

“‘Don’t?’ Don’t get a healer?”

Cullen grimaced at Dorian’s voice, “‘s lyrium-”

“You need lyrium? Where is it?”

“ _ No, _ ” Cullen opened his eyes wider, and summoned strength to reply, “ _ No lyrium. _ ”

“Alright.” Dorian replied with confusion, and then, “Ah. . . Alright.” Lyrium was addictive. It was mentioned before in their chats. This was from lyrium; or rather, a lack of it.  _ What are you doing, Cullen _ ?

"Do you need help with the rest of your armor?" Cullen seemed to respond with a nod, so Dorian did what he could. He wasn't very familiar with removing armor like this, but it wasn't difficult to figure out. There was an armor stand, but Dorian tossed the heavy steel onto the floor with a thud. Cullen tried to place fingers on his own leather straps, but his limbs shook and Dorian intruded his own hands into releasing the vambraces, the gorget, the breastplate. As soon as his armor was off to the shirt and breeches beneath, Cullen closed his eyes and curled into the sheets, clinging for dear life.

"’M sorry about-," he whispered.

"Oh don't start with that. Hush now." Dorian murmured, holding him down gently with a hand on the collar bone and another resting on his forehead.”You think this is the first time I’ve helped someone in need?” He examined his pupils, temperature, the flush on his face, and sighed. He really was no healer, but there was little a healer would be able to do in any case. “Do you consent to healing?” Dorian ventured. He could give it a try. 

“Won’t work.” 

It would probably be like waiting for a fever to break. Perhaps a potion would be helpful, but he would have to be cunning to ask Madame de Fer without raising suspicions. They were still unsure about each other.

Cullen started to breath harshly and Dorian smoothed his hair; or rather, there were curls there to catch his fingers. Funny, he'd have to poke fun at that later.

"My head is. . . swimming. Dorian, please say something," Cullen pleaded weakly.

A score of witty retorts came to Dorian's lips instantly about all the times he had instead been told to be quiet, though he knew now wasn't the time. The day before, Dorian had only been happy to talk for hours at Cullen, and now it was hard to find the words. The man was asking for a distraction from the pain.

"Hmm, well, I need something to work with here. Is it okay to say anything? And keep going?" He allowed his voice to drop any feigned joviality. "I've never found myself near as down as you are now, but I've been struck bedridden before. It was helpful to think of when I  _ wasn't _ sick; a way to cope for the future as well, I suppose. " So this was the result of turning away from that life. Quite the ultimatum to ensure loyalty. Lyrium. . .it held together the edges of Cullen's life as soon as he put it into his body for the first time. That's a very long time to have a sickness threaten to attack as soon as it wasn't fed. So, what was before that?

"Where did you live before joining the Order?"

Cullen eyes were still closed tightly. "Honnleath"

"Honnleath! Naturally, I place I haven't heard of. But a small place in Ferelden, of course; A county of agriculture. Since you can't tell me your story, I'll improvise, hmm? Let's see, a young Rutherford boy running around Honnleath – lot's of rowdy rustic exploits like tree-climbing and stream-swimming I imagine? At least that's the romantic view provided by Ferelden literature,"

Cullen gave no affirmation so Dorian went on. "It was J.J. Boyd who wrote it of course. I'm sure you study him in the south; being a southerner writing about being one with nature and all that. So many critics saying he was on too high a dose of elfroot, but I disagree. One doesn't need to be hopped up on herbs to write in such unusual vernacular. It was definitely deep mushroom." He heard Cullen huff out a grimace of a laugh and continued.

"A lovely scenic view of Honnleath as would be described by the deliriously happy J.J. Boyd. A lovely blue sky of large clouds and rolling hills full of . . . "

"Orchards."

"Full of orchards. No doubt perfect for a little blond Rutherford boy to climb. Those nice warm days of childhood summer." Dorian sighed, just imagining it, tinging it with his own nostalgia of hours stolen away from studies to enjoy good weather. Cullen seemed to lie still which was a good sign. Dorian realized his hand was still stroking those curls, but he had no intention of stopping.

"And at the top of the tree would be a nice view, I imagine. Birds gliding, meadows farther off and the like. Maybe places to wet the feet and pull at grass." He continued on for a while, imagining an idyllic scene of a Honnleath childhood, entirely from imagination and spotty references from Ferelden writers. Dorian had no clue how much of it could be applied to Cullen's own childhood, but the man was still and listened to the bedside story of fancy. Sooner than Dorian expected, Cullen was gripping the sheets loosely, breath calmed, face entirely passive. He wondered if Cullen had the opportunity to really live a free childhood like he was imagining, or was it by having big dreams that he ran off to the Templar Order? The Order was a place for the third and fourth children of nobles, he had heard, who had little opportunity to bring more to the family except with the dignity of Chantry service. Was Cullen the odd child who joined willingly, naively, amongst a gaggle of high bred children who would no doubt look down on him?

Dorian stared at him awhile, hand still soothing a warrior as if he were a child and it was strange. . . how it felt nice to give a bit of comfort. There was the famous scar Vivienne mentioned, now impressive on a pale face. Whatever story was there, Cullen could tell him in his own words.

"Thank you."

Dorian caught his breath; So he was awake, but only barely so. That was all Cullen said, continuing to breathe slowly.

“Don’t mention it,” Dorian said quietly. 

Surely Korvyn knew about this. And he took their best healer, Solas, with him? He might have to have a word to him about that. How many times had he suffered this alone? 

His thoughts went back to Felix. He would have made it back to Tevinter by now, having to face a lot of difficult people without Dorian’s help. How would he explain that his father was Venatori, had attempted to tamper (and succeeded) with time magic, and was taken prisoner by the Inquisition? Dorian was yet to even visit his old mentor. It was going to be messy, on all accounts. He knew Felix had it in him to handle it all with grace, but the Blight was catching up to him quickly. 

Quite a few times Felix had bad days, and for all the help he had given Dorian, it was the least Dorian could do to visit him and give him a pep talk. Dorian gave very few people any such attention, but few people he encountered deserved it. Was he doomed to make friends and then watch them suffer? No, that wasn’t it. Everyone suffered - maybe it was just easier to endure with other people around. 

 

Dorian left quietly when he was sure Cullen was asleep without thrashing. Jim had been waiting outside anxiously in the snow, but he had no rank to demand an explanation.

“You were right,” Dorian told him, “He’s awake, entrenched in very important work, and shouldn’t be disturbed.” Jim nodded in understanding. “Give him a few hours yet, perhaps until midday. I’m sure he’ll take other reports later. But this business is directly from the Inquisitor. You understand?” 

Jim’s mouth twisted only slightly, but Dorian knew he was testing the recruit’s loyalty. He was getting an order second-hand, not from the Commander himself. On the other hand, Dorian was part of the Inquisitor’s Inner Circle, and often could relay Korvyn’s plans. 

“Until midday,” Jim repeated, “Right. I’ll tell the other runners as well if they approach, Ser.” 

 

//

The sun was getting low when Dorian decided to check up on the Commander again. After the first freeze, the ivy and trees of Skyhold were turning much faster to bright yellow. The shadows were long across the courtyard, leaving most of the golden light on the towers and ramparts. The sky was clear and the air was crisp when Dorian crossed the bridge to office. He could see Cullen standing over the entrance to Skyhold, where Jim had been that morning. The once bright, white snow of the morning was trampled on the ramparts and reflected the orange of the sun’s rays.    
When Dorian opened the side-door, Cullen glanced to see who it was before looking back down.     
“Should you be out in the cold air?” Dorian asked.

“It feels great, actually,” Cullen replied quietly. There wasn’t much trace of the sickness that had wracked through him that morning, though Dorian didn’t know if that meant it had passed swiftly, or if Cullen was now better able to hide it. “I, uh, I’m sorry you had to see me like that. I wanted to say thank you.”

“There wasn’t much I could do.”

“Regardless, you tried.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, and out over the vast lake below, Dorian could see other aspens turning gold. 

“Who else knows?”

Cullen took a slow breath. “Trevelyan and Cassandra.”

“Is that wise?”

“What choice is there?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian said, “but more people could help, if they knew.”

“There’s no helping it. There’s just getting through it.” He shifted his weight. “I have to remain a symbol of strength for the Inquisition.”

“And suffer in the process?”

“If I have to, then I will.”

Dorian sighed. He had to respect that decision. “You could show the other Templars that there is a way out.”

“I’ve thought of that. But if they saw what happens when it stops. . .They’ll stay on it all the longer.”

“ _ Or _ they’d know that it’s at least possible to stop. Probably a sight better than what they think the alternative to be.”

“I have to survive, first,” he said sorely. “To show that there  _ is _ an alternative.”

They shared a glance, and Dorian could still see some pain in it.

Below, an enormous Hart made itself visible on the castle platform as it approached Skyhold, flanked by large and shaggy Halla. 

“We have Dalish visitors?”

Cullen observed them for a beat before confirming. “The Lieutenant Lavellan.”

Dorian watched as Cullen’s interest seemed pinpointed on the slim elven woman leading the group, in tight leathers and wind-blown blonde hair.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Dorian smirked and lay on a thick tone of mock passion. “ _ Lieutenant Lavellan _ .” Cullen gave a dismissive scoff at Dorian’s tone, but his blush was damning, and Dorian laughed. “She’s very nice to look at. Shall I talk to her for you?”

“Don’t you dare.”

Of course, Dorian was pleased for an opportunity to tease, and Cullen knew it.   
“You’ll get enough in at the war table, I presume.”

“She only speaks with Leliana.”

“Shame.”

She looked up as her cavalry approached, and Cullen pushed backward from the rampart to go towards his office. Dorian followed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> -Vivienne actually never allied with a fraternity as a full-fledged enchanter, but she kind of became the de-facto leader of the Loyalists of the mage rebellion since she wanted to reinstate Circles. Despite the fact that I disagree with her politics, I understand why she feels the way she does, and I find her a fascinating character.  
> -Dorian's reference to the difficulties of using "small" magic is canon in The World of Thedas v.I on the limits of magic: "Mundane Tasks: Most mages are taught to use magic only when necessary. Just as one would not use a greatsword to chop vegetables, magic is not typically used to pick apples or tidy houses." I actually like this tidbit, as magic being very hard to control means only someone very experienced could do minor tasks – like how it’s easier to start a wildfire than light a candle. It would be an impressive move to a fellow mage, but not to non-mages who wouldn't pick up on such a thing.  
> -I have no idea why Felix never joined the Grey Wardens or if that would heal him, and there’s so much speculation surrounding that plot that I honestly don’t want to touch it or I’ll turn it into several more pages we don’t need.


	7. Distractions

 

Most days Dorian wouldn’t wake up early enough to see the busyness of morning, but some days he didn’t mind taking a strong cup of tea to his window at the library to get an early start on studying and to see the show outside the tower. The recruits who did the morning run went in two lines across the ramparts at a brisk jog, the Commander usually mixed in with them. Sometimes more familiar silhouettes would be there too: Cassandra, Bull, Krem, Harding, without armor and prepared to sweat. The days were getting darker so they were getting their exercise in before any more storms blew in, though he wouldn’t be surprised if the Commander made them run in the snow like he had at Haven. He paused at his reading to glance below to the jogging figures, puffs of white rising from their breaths. They ended their run on top of the ramparts. Cullen dismissed them, and he peeled off his shirt on the way back to his office. Dorian could almost make out the details of his solid build when someone paused nearby to browse the bookshelf. Turning back, Cullen had already entered his office.   
Well, it was okay to  _ look _ . He was much healthier. The lyrium withdrawals were something he hadn’t expected to witness, and when Dorian discretely studied up on average symptoms, they could get miles and away worse. He had never seen that expression on Cullen; even when they had been sparring, he seemed fueled by adrenaline. This was a pain that left him debilitated and, judging by his reaction, ashamed. Cullen needed proper help and support, but Dorian wasn’t sure where it was his right to intervene. Their Inquisitor knew about it, so he supposed he kept his own eye on things, but Cullen was adept at hiding his suffering.  _ Well, idle worrying won’t do you any favors. _

Dorian paused to rifle through his tome and note papers. He wanted to get something done that morning, but his mind was elsewhere. The papers were a thick pile out of control with musings and wandering thoughts. Diagrams here and there, possible spell creations, and even some that had Felix’s own comments on the margins. . .and the letter that he couldn’t quite bring himself to destroy. It had come the morning before from one of his few friends, Maevaris Telani, telling him about Felix’s arrival and very prompt death.

When he had last spoken with Felix before his departure, Dorian hadn’t suspected that it would be the last time they ever spoke. He had patted his shoulder, wished him well, told him he hoped to see him soon. Mae wrote that he gave a glowing testimonial for the Inquisition to the Magisterium and denounced his father’s Venatori involvement. Tevinter exiled him, stripped his ranks, and washed their hands of Gereon completely, letting him become the Inquisition’s problem. It was a trial Dorian wasn’t in any rush to witness. Felix had to mention Dorian to the Magisterium as well, as being under his tutelage made things more difficult for his position. The Imperium, it seemed, was not so quick to want to expatriate Dorian for his involvement; though he didn’t wonder what his family would think about it. All of Alexius’ possessions would have been distributed by now, but Felix had left all of the thaumaturgy notes to Dorian. A wise move in his last moments, to ensure no one else could get their hands on Time MAgic research and subsequently abuse that magic as Alexius had. Of course, though sealed for Dorian’s eyes only, Mae informed him that Magister Pavus would hold them in his absence. Probably one more thing his father would hold over him for his cooperation in the future. What a mess. 

Though Dorian always knew the Blight would catch up to Felix, it was still hard to think that his room, his lab, the kitchen table where they loitered for late night snacks - would be empty. His brilliant mind and kind heart would be forgotten by Tevinter. His studies, at least, would be occasionally looked over by a scholar. But Dorian would carry those small moments of who Felix was. 

The letter and notes were quickly folded and placed inside his tome. There was far too much on his mind to be productive. He was just getting comfortable at Skyhold, which meant, of course, that it was time for Korvyn to take him back out on the field, but that would be for the best. He had to admit that he was pleased to live up to his full potential and solve as much of the Corypheus mess as he could, even if it was in the harsher elements. Especially now that he desperately needed a distraction from bad news. It would be good to get away for a while and flex his prowess. 

Dorian had the whole day to get prepared, but he was compelled to drop by Cullen’s office before he left. When it had been too windy in the garden the day before, they had decided to move the chess game indoors to a used wooden board. They hadn’t finished, but Cullen insisted that his office was neutral ground compared to anywhere else Dorian might be able to access it. 

  
  


//

 

Not a second after Cullen had finished washing after his run, he was summoned to a war table meeting that went into early evening. A storm had passed over the Waking Sea, with many ravens returning all at once. The load of information had to be carefully sorted between all of them as they took meals in the council room. After the news of the Clan Lavellan’s convoluted blackmail, Korvyn was determined to set it right. For their help, Lieutenant Lavellan agreed to lead the Inquisitor into the Emerald Graves on a secret path, which would be their next destination. The more the Inquisition grew, the more people saw it as a solution to every problem, and Korvyn was starting to have to be selective with what they picked up. Red lyrium and its Templars, rifts, and Venatori were their main targets now, and the other advisors could see how Korvyn always hesitated to put some missions before others. It was a lot to put on a man of twenty-three with no political experience, but he held up well, considering. He mentioned how he had been the Trevelyan heir before he was taken to the Circle, and it seemed now he was picking up his dues tenfold.    
Josephine was sympathetic, but as soon as she mentioned the Winter Palace, Korvyn’s head dropped. “Uhg, Maker, I forgot about that.”

“If you stay as polite as you usually are, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble,” Josephine assured him. 

Leliana did not seem so convinced. “Though they will use naivety to their advantage. Your best strategy would be to reveal as little as possible, Inquisitor. They would expect as much.”

“One thing at a time,” Cullen interjected. “That’s months away. We can finish anything else, Inquisitor; you have to rest for the journey tomorrow.”

“Sooner is better than later, Commander,” Leliana smiled. “But I agree that it’s past time for this meeting to end.” 

They dismissed and Korvyn left with Josephine, her hand on his shoulder. 

  
  


A cheap wooden chess set sat untouched from the day before on Cullen’s desk, the missives and orders of the day brushed carefully against the sides, with pawns poised for victory. Some went to sleep early, others blew off steam at the tavern, but Cullen found that chatting with Dorian over chess was his small comfort in the evenings - before Dorian went off to spend his time elsewhere. They had fallen into a friendly rhythm, and it seemed many of the inner circle were finding regular companions.

The day was getting late when Cullen decided to go find him. When he left his office, however, he saw Dorian walk through the door on the other end of the bridge. They caught each other’s gaze and met at the center. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” 

“You’re early,” Cullen said.   
“I went to go see Dagna about adding a demon-slaying rune to my staff.” He walked right over the line where there was still a beam of sun. “Said she’d have it done by first light. That woman works her own magic - She’s my favorite.” He smiled and crossed his arms. “You were coming to see me?” 

“I was going to find you in the library - these might be useful to you.” Cullen handed over a wooden bundle tied together and Dorian took it. 

“What’s this?”

“Book-holders; So a book can sit upright on a table when you read and you needn’t lean over.”

“Oh yes, these take me back to my Circle days.” Dorian’s smile softened before looking up. “Don’t you need them?”

“I usually like to pace when I read.” 

“Ah. . . ” Dorian met his eyes for a few seconds and then lowered the gift - because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? 

“I noticed you tend to have several books out, so. . .”

“Yes, for cross-referencing. Thank you.” 

Cullen felt suddenly very aware that they were in public. He gestured to keep moving and Dorian followed. 

“Unfortunately they won’t get much use until I get back,” Dorian said as they moved inside. “I won't thank you for that, by the way. I’ll have to pack salves for several types of insects. Though the Emerald Graves should be a holiday compared to the Storm Coast."

Cullen put up his hands in defense. "I have no word in whom the Inquisitor decides to take."

Dorian moved the chess set between them. "Well, you'll have to find another chess partner for a while. I'm sure you'll miss my tactics."

"Is  _ that _ what you call them?"

"Tragically unappreciated."

“I guess I could pretend you’d be here,” Cullen gestured to the chair opposite him “But I’d sadly still win.”

“So  _ smug. _ If you play with yourself, it might as well be with thoughts of me.”

Cullen moved a hand to his face. “I swear,”

“You set yourself up for that one,” Dorian said, with little remorse.

“If anyone heard you the way you speak sometimes-”

“Oh please,” Dorian leaned his chin on his fist. “That’s why they keep me around. Bad and bawdy lines are well loved down here - Just ask Varric’s book sales.”

“Or it’s another bad ‘tactic.’” Cullen gave a slight, challenging smile, but Dorian gave a noncommittal shrug in reply. Cullen only ever became mock confident to tease, and Dorian was only ever happy to mock back to keep him grounded. It was a strange game between them that Cullen was only just starting to recognize, while he figured Dorian knew the tune of it by heart. After a moment, Dorian lifted his head in suspicion. “Hold on, did you have a lady in here?”

Cullen blinked, confused. “No more than my usual runners.”

“No, I mean, a  _ Lady _ . I swear I smell expensive perfume. . .”

“Oh.” Cullen knew what he meant immediately, “That would be from Magister Telani. She sent a letter.”

“You’re joking,” Dorian said, but he knew he wasn’t. He reached for a scented parchment and rolled his eyes once he saw the handwriting there. “Oh Mae, you minx.”

“You’re more than acquaintances then.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Is this about the Templars you sent north?”

Cullen plucked the letter from Dorian, subtly indicating that these were not documents for snooping, and placed it aside. He moved a piece forward on the board. “Yes, it was good intel and the agents there had greatly underestimated southern Templars. She has other requests for the Inquisitor, however.”

“For political support, yes; she told me about that. She  _ has _ been busy.”

"That’s a Check, by the way."

"No it isn’t-”

“Right there.” 

Dorian gave him an unimpressed stare. “Have you been waiting all day for me to make that move so you could win?”

He had. “At least you're a sight better at magic.”

"I  _ am _ , that. But I’m not done yet.”  Dorian moved the offending piece on the board and leaned forward. “What about that Dalish Lieutenant? You could always ask her to your room for some chess while I’m gone.”

“No need to dip into the absurd.” 

“My dear man, I’ve seen the absurd, and I don’t think  _ that’s _ the word for it. What’s wrong with the idea?” 

Cullen could think of quite a few, but the most immediate was the most obvious. Especially since he wasn’t really talking about chess. “We’re at war; I can’t be. . .distracted.”

“So have a fling,” Dorian said, as if it was the most obvious solution.

Cullen felt himself color a little, hand moving to his neck. “That’s not exactly a thing that I do.”

“Not quite a man of adventure, hm?” It was a common jab from Dorian, but he also knew it was a small persuasion to try something new. Dorian seemed to think he was capable of charm the way that a bird would suggest a boar to fly. Cullen didn’t find himself particularly charming, and he didn’t really need to be in this line of work.

“If I weren’t adventurous, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

“Point taken, I suppose. No one risks being called a heretic for their health. Although sometimes, distractions  _ are _ called for.” Dorian gestured to the board in front of them. “Are they not?”

“Is  _ this _ comparable to  _ that _ ?” Cullen asked dubiously. 

“You mean this isn’t foreplay?” He asked innocently, and Cullen gave a short laugh as Dorian continued. “Surely this counts for you. Any Ferelden girl privy to your preferences would have you in her pocket. Chess, talk of ancient war strategy, then, dare I say - the scandalous affair of picking out a Mabari to raise? ”

“Maker, I honestly hope that’s not how you would summarize me,” Cullen said, rubbing a gloved hand over his smile. “Besides, no one  _ picks _ a Mabari.”

“Oh my, the Commander has  _ hidden depths _ .” Dorian made his move on the board and Cullen stared at it, offended at what he saw there. Then he looked to Dorian. 

“Did you. . .?”

“Yes, that was your rook,” Dorian grinned. He hadn’t even realized his move, and it wasn’t until Cullen stared silently that he caught on. “ _ No _ , did I win?” he asked.

“I don’t- hold on.”

“Unbelievable!” He laughed and leaned forward over the board to make sure. “I thought I was just stealing your rook.”

“But you weren’t even trying. . .” Cullen had always kept track of Dorian’s cheating, but he hadn’t done anything this game.

“Oh, victory is  _ sweet _ .” He leaned back again with smug ease. “That’s it - that’s the high note. I better leave while I’m ahead.”

“Another game would-”

“Ohhh no, I want you to stew in that for a while. Is this how you always get to feel?” he boasted. “Besides, I’d better turn in for the early journey.” As Dorian stood, Cullen found himself fumbling to stand as well. He was a little disappointed that Dorian wouldn’t stay longer. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hasty to try and win. 

“Well, how about that,” Cullen conceded, moving toward the door. “You played without deception and won. I’ll have to repay you for that.”

“I imagine you will.” He smiled, and held up the book-holders in a mock salute. “I’ll see you in a few weeks. Until then.” 

Cullen held the door open for him, but a small worry nagged at his mind. “Maker guide you, Dorian. There's a lot of danger in those woods."

That crooked grin made its appearance. "Of course, Commander."

The sun had not yet set when Dorian left the office and a purple glow came up from the mountains. In a cool breeze, a small group of ravens cawed as they flew over the bridge, carried on the wind to the roost. When Cullen glanced upward, he saw Leliana there, casually watching him. 

 

//

 

It was dawn when Dorian turned around to glance back at Skyhold, the south side of it gleaming in frost. They would be in the shadow of the mountain for a while yet and their horses shook their manes in the morning mist.The party had been chatting for awhile until there was a natural lull in conversation as they advanced, spreading out on the path. Korvyn was almost asleep on his horse in front of them though the Dalish Lieutenant was right behind to keep the group moving. Her messy blond hair was folded up in a lopsided bun, and she periodically moved her head to a faraway sound. Dorian’s horse was nervous around the giant Hart, but he pulled up beside her steed. "Pardon me," he started. 

She turned to look at him and narrowed her eyes, the curving vallaslin beneath them were a soft green in the morning light. Dorian had very little interaction with Dalish elves, and wasn’t eager to tread on any toes, especially when he was trying to do Cullen a favor. 

"Might I have a moment?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, my tolerance for shems is fresh out." Maybe not, then. He didn’t know much about the help she got from Korvyn, but supposedly it had to do with her clan being subjugated by some deplorable humans elsewhere, as they were wont to do. It was through the pressure of another human - Korvyn - that their demands as Dalish were being listened to. 

“I only mean to ask an opinion.”

She sighed. “About the Dalish?” 

“No, actually.”

Her demeanor shifted considerably. “Thank the gods for that.”

“Get many curious questions, do you?”

“I get a lot of  _ ignorant _ questions.” She had a handsome voice, sharp as it was. “But you’re speaking to me like a person so far, which is a good start. Ask away.”

He only felt a little foolish now. "Do you have any opinion about our Commander?"

"Hmm. I don’t really think of him at all, other than that he looks like a Templar with that armor. What's your point?"

If he was reading her correctly, it was time to take a risk. "You're more of a negotiator, yes? Prefer things to be straight to the point?" She gave a curious smiled and he took that as a good sign. "Do you find him attractive?"

To his surprise, the Lieutenant laughed. "Oh, that's the game is it?” A slight pink tinted her tanned cheeks, though it might have been the cold air. “Sure, he has a very nice face. But if you think I'd ever spend time with a Templar, you’ve another thing coming."

" _ Ex _ -Templar, actually. Found the whole thing appalling."

"Oh, you mean like a normal person?" She let silence hang for a moment between them before continuing. "He's your friend, is he? Unusual for a mage to be friends with their lot."  

“The Inquisition has many reputable people.”   
“Mmhmm. And he doesn’t know you’re doing this, I’d guess?”

“He’d probably Smite me if he knew.” 

“Well this is refreshing.” She gave a toothy smile. “I’m used to your type being so shifty with what you think. Unless it’s to throw an insult.”

Dorian was a little taken back by her own honesty, and was pleased that he could offer her a laugh, even if she didn’t go along with his idea. 

“I already have partners,” she continued. “and the entire reason I’m negotiating with the Inquisitor is because he actually gives a damn about my clan being set up. But if your friend is okay with something more recreational. . .  _ Fenedhis _ **,** well, let’s see how the wind blows.”

Dorian suppressed an inane grin and let his horse trail back a bit, honestly surprised it worked. Cullen might be mad about it, but he also might thank him later. 

  
//  

With Lieutenant Lavellan’s help, they made it to the Emerald Graves a few days earlier than anticipated. The forest was beautiful in a way that reminded Dorian of fairy tales. The towers of Minrathous were in competition with the height of the canopy above, alive with the flight of birds. The immensely tall trees, the soft sunlight speckling through the leaves, and the quick autumn colors making an appearance in bronzed foliage was stunning. At least until he tripped over a root. With the scout camp up ahead, the Lieutenant prepared to depart.

“You’ll be okay on your own until the Frostbacks?” Korvyn asked.

“I’ve been travelling on my own since I was twelve summers old, Inquisitor. You should watch your own back out here. The woods can be a deceptive maze, and those disgusting red creatures are lurking around.” 

“Take care, Lieutenant.”

 

After handling some Freemen and wandering a few hours later, they were lost. 

“I swear I saw a rift along here,” Korvyn tried to assure them, tripping through the tall grass along a rock ledge. His gloved hands felt along the large boulder and moved away from the rashvine. He was in good camouflage in his brown and dark red Inquisition mage robes against the brown trunks and fall foliage. Despite the autumn colors above, however, the Emerald Graves were indeed still very green on the floor, creating optical illusions of continuing ground when there were cliffs and ledges.

“Lot of animal tracks heading west,” Iron Bull said. “Could’ve been spooked by it.”

“So you think maybe go east?” Korvyn asked.

"A moment;" Dorian said, and the party paused immediately. "What is that noise?" They all listened. There was the faint buzz of insects, wind through the leaves, and a gentle chiming.

"I don't hear anything unusual, just a house up ahead," Iron Bull said.

"You _ hear _ a house?" Dorian asked. 

" _ No _ ," Korvyn added. "The windchime. What did  _ you _ hear?"

"Windchime?"

"Yeah." Korvyn shrugged at Dorian’s expression. "You know. A windchime? The – the hollow metal things that blow in the wind? The –  _ really _ ?"

Sera sighed in exasperation. "Nearly had my arrows out, you know."

"What is it?" 

"It, uh, it's just a decoration that catches a breeze. You can tell how windy it is outside and hear music at the same time – look, we'll see it as we approach."

"Is that all?"

The home seemed abandoned, probably in the wake of opening rifts and every other sort of danger that came with it. They passed the house and kept going, the twinkling chimes almost too lighthearted for the space they traversed.

"Are there really no windchimes in Tevinter?" Korvyn asked

"If one wants to know what the weather is like, one merely goes outside or opens a window. " 

“Or tells a slave to do it.”

"Yes,  _ thank you _ , Sera.” Dorian added. “I've seen similar in Antiva, though they use shells. I was unfamiliar with the sound."

"Should get one for Cullen’s roof," Sera sniggered. "Hide it though. Make it out of glass."

"Auuugh, that would be so annoying." Korvyn gave a sympathy groan. “Though maybe then he'd let me fix it.”

“Hold on,” Dorian said, swatting away a fly. “I thought I had that roof fixed.”

“Leliana mentioned that, but it’s  _ very _ temporary. The last storm did a number on the roofs,” Korvyn replied. “He keeps insisting there are better things to work on.”

“Been up to Cully Wully’s room, eh?” Sera grinned at Dorian, and Iron Bull turned as well.

Dorian huffed. “Like I said, I only offered a helping hand-”

Sera and Iron Bull both erupted in laughter. Even Dorian had to suppress a smirk at the unfortunate phrasing. 

“Will you guys-” Korvyn stopped mid-sentence as they passed the large rock ledge corner and paused, his body frozen as he glanced over a hedge. As he stopped abruptly, the others did too, always trained for caution. Korvyn turned and whispered matter-o-factly, “I see the rift over there. But there’s a demon by it.”

“Alright?” Sera whispered back.

“No,” Korvyn glanced to Dorian. “Dorian,  _ what the shit is that _ .”

Dorian craned his neck slowly to look past Korvyn’s shoulder. It was ripping apart a very dead animal, with rags of skin tossed about in the grass. Though hunched, the arachnid-like legs framing its torso gave it away. “It’s a Fear Demon; you should disrupt the rift first.”

“Maker, I’ve never seen one before. Weak to. . . lightening, right?”

“I’ll handle that.”

“You stun it boss, and I’ll come in swinging.”

Too late for that - Dorian cast a protection spell over the lot of them as its back straightened, aware of their presence. The blue protection charm shimmered over them and Bull pushed forward to draw its attention. As Korvyn moved closer, the anchor triggered a reaction in the rift and more demons clawed up from the ground where it dripped acid green. Arrows flew past Dorian’s shoulder, but Dorian was already sending a thunderbolt down on the Fear Demon, switching quickly to chain-lighting. Bull ducked under the currents of electricity and gave an impressive swing to bring it down. Korvyn was a supportive spellcaster, sending blasts of fire to Sera’s target before raising a Wall of Flames so Bull’s targets couldn’t retreat. Dorian kept distance as he needed, but used the blade on his staff just as anything came up too fast for casting. When a Terror Demon rushed for him, he beat it down before igniting it in a glyph. 

They made quick work of any demons that came through, slicing through the phantom limbs and sizzling their forms into green ash. The last Despair Demon floated away from them and they started to follow after. They stopped on their heels when it flung itself right over a short ledge and out of the way, revealing the crusted crimson armor of red Templars in the distance. If they hadn’t heard the commotion now, the loud crack of sealing the rift was going to do it. Sera quickly triple-notched her bow to bring the demon down as swiftly as she could, but the screech it let out was not discreet.

“Shit-” Before Korvyn had to say anything, he was flanked with Bull. “Here goes nothing,” he told them. Korvyn held out the anchor to the bleeding green tear. The rift and the anchor both burst with light. The two points sensed each other, green tendrils of acidic energy reaching out, and joining in a powerful stream. It looked painful, the way the charge had to be expelled, then broken. Korvyn pulled his hand back to force the disconnection, and with a grimace, the rift was disrupted of all energy and bled out of existence. The Templars had been pacing about like predators looking for their noisy prey, and at the loud crack, their attention drew right to them. They braced themselves.  

“How many shots do you think I can take at one before it reaches us?” 

“Is now really the-?” Dorian looked to Korvyn, who had sweat dripping down his face, but he still managed a mischievous grin. Dorian couldn’t help but return it. “No more than three, I’d wager.” 

They both started firing and Sera let loose at their signal. Their forms were just as monstrous as Dorian had remembered at Haven, their skin marred with poisonous raw lyrium, deadly to mages. Dorian and Korvyn kept their distance, but they were luckily small in number. A rogue with bladed hands was angling for them, and Dorian was distracted by making the largest of them a Walking Bomb. It snuck up with an unnatural speed, and it was only a flash of red that let Dorian bring up his staff in time to block a crystal blade to the shoulder. It moved its hand -no, dagger- to slip under the staff. It was a move Cullen had attempted on him before, and Dorian countered it to keep the deadlock, the lyrium pressing a sickly heat onto his senses by inches. The rogue jumped back to free himself, ready to strike again, when Sera dissolved into sight to cut it down from behind. “Eugh, sodding creeper!” The Walking Bomb went off, and the larger Templar’s chest exploded outwards in gore and crystal that they all tried to dodge. 

The sound of battle stopped, and the party slowly rose from its crouched position. The sound of blades no longer echoed through the trees, and the rustling of leaves filled the air again.

Dorian gave a relieved sigh. “Well. That’s was almost unlucky.” 

“Nah,” Bull grinned. “Two birds, one stone.”

“Nifty explosion,” Sera chimed in.   
Korvyn came up to Iron Bull’s side, wiping the ashy embers off his hands and spying a gash on Bull’s forearm. “Bull, are you alright?” 

“Clean cut, boss.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want you infected like they are. Let me see it.”

“I think it was from the damn demon, not the Templar. But hey, you never know, that red lyrium infection might be just a human disease.” Bull shrugged.

“Hm, it looks okay.”    
Iron Bull used a rag on his belt to wipe away the blood as if it was nothing. The rest of the party turned toward the massive vein of Red Lyrium tied down onto a storage cart. Korvyn whistled and wiped his forehead, leaving a grey streak from his burnt gauntlets. “Well, we found the smugglers Cullen had mentioned. Sweet Andraste. . .  raw red lyrium and they’re just  _ lugging it around _ .” Sera was already rifling through their contraband and haphazardly handed Korvyn some notes and letters. Korvyn thumbed through them. “. . . These are related to Samson. I thought I’d keep an eye out, but didn’t know for sure that we’d find anything.” 

Dorian knew by Korvyn’s posture that he felt it too - the heat, the sticky feeling of moisture or congestion that the Lyrium radiated like it was sucking the air from their lungs; a fever in the air, with a cruel, soft song of danger.  “How do we destroy it?” Dorian asked. Normal blue lyrium was a death sentence to any mage that touched it, nevermind the poison of this red monstrosity.

Korvyn looked at it a little helplessly. “Well it only seems to really grow on flesh, so perhaps if we just. . . shatter it? Maybe bury it.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I feel like I should have had a better plan figured out for this to make sure no one ever runs into it by accident. It doesn’t grow in any other animals does it? If we left it here, a fennec won’t eat it and spread it around?”

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Bull said.

“Uhg, are we gonna have to dig holes now?”

Dorian circled it, trying to ignore the oppressive fumes around it. “Well, disconnected from a lyrium vein and not distilled, maybe its properties will dissolve. The magical source was corrupted, so the red lyrium may expire without a host.”

“I could have scouts secure the perimeter until we figure something out.”

It turned out to be far more troublesome than they expected. 

They spent days travelling the area and closing rifts, running into Red Templars while they were at it. They had a tentative several hours of maneuvering around a grove of giants they had stumbled into and successfully made it out in time to come across a haunted Chateau. The Inquisition presence was smaller than they would need to continue, and they were at their limit in only a few days by the time Korvyn received a raven for an incoming response. “I’ll have to come back later to close all of the rifts when there’s more reinforcements,” he sighed. “We’re spread thin here. Looks like the civil war is heating up in the Exalted Plains, right where demons are letting the undead get out of control.” Korvyn  cracked his knuckles and shook out his left hand. “We’ll stop back at Skyhold quickly to get affairs in order, and we’ll be moving out again.”

  
  


//

 

Cullen hadn't realized how much of his time he spent with Dorian until the man was gone. It was a self-rebuke at how much he could be getting done without distractions, but after a hard day’s work, he realized how needed those distractions could be.

He had chosen chess as a way to exercise his mind while being leisurely; he hadn't been sure when it became regular. He knew he was being ridiculous, but it was an odd feeling to have his usual routine disturbed. Yes, that's all it was.

Varric was chatty as he noticed him on the grounds. Cullen noticed that he was amiable with most of the inner circle. He had wondered whether it was Varric's natural friendliness or subtle research for the inevitable future book he would be writing, and settled in his mind that it was probably both. He was social in a way that kept one thriving through life just for the bonds created by chosen family - something Cullen admired, but could never quite achieve. It was from Varric, naturally, that Cullen learned about Iron Bull and Solas playing chess out and about with the Inquisitor without the physical board in front of them. "It was unbelievable - them calling out where they wanted their pieces to go using only their heads to remember the board placement. I'm not sure how Korvyn and I kept our eyes in our head, we were rolling them so much. If you need the mental sparring, I'm sure they'd be up for it some time. I imagine you don't get much of a challenge with Sparkler."

"You don't give him enough credit."

"I'll give him credit in that he's a crafty bastard. "

Cullen smiled. "Well, that’s also true."

Cullen did get around to trying new chess partners. Bull wasn’t around, but Blackwall turned out to be a decent player, and Cullen occasionally caught him in a draw. As they both played an aggressive offense, the matches were over quickly, and Blackwall confessed that he was much more into playing cards. He offered the idea to Cullen, and while Cullen wouldn’t normally sit around a table for cards, he had to agree that it might be entertaining some time in the future.

Solas, on the other hand, gave him too much time for conversation. He was surprised to be offered a game from the Commander, but not adverse to it. He turned out to be much more strategic than Cullen had imagined, feigning a defensive position before striking. It was in these moments of contemplative silence that Cullen realized how little he had in common with Solas and wondered why he had thought this a good idea. It was polite conversation, but by no means easy on Cullen's side. An ex-Templar and an elf apostate. Although perhaps, as he was usually reminded, not as unusual as an ex-Templar and a Tevinter mage.

They bested each other in strong moves back and forth, and Cullen left with Solas' assurance he was glad to have such a competent Commander in the Inquisition. Cullen thanked him, but he was not so mentally rested on his return to his office as he had intended. It was with Leliana's news that the Inquisitor and crew would return in half a week’s time that Cullen felt a relief.

They had received a raven days earlier with Korvyn confirming that the Emerald Graves were infested not only with rifts and Freemen, but Red Templars as well. Within the hour of receiving the letter, Cullen had reinforcements penned in to be sent their way, but more pressing news in the Exalted Plains would require the Inquisitor’s help. Korvyn appealed to moving forward from the Emerald Graves, but a few days later confirmed that they needed to recuperate first, and would be heading back to Skyhold. Being in the Emerald Graves did some good for the present; a temporary bandage as they took down the worst of what they could before going back for clean-up.

On the day they were to return, Cullen checked his window frequently. Surely they could always be delayed, but it was good to check. In lieu of a walk, he paced his office, stood at the ramparts and tried to distract himself by staring at his bookshelf. When the welcoming horns blew, he moved back to the ramparts as small dark figures followed the trail up to Skyhold. He thought he might be acting a little ridiculous, but what was wrong with seeing that friends were safely making their way back to him? There would be a meeting in the war room, next steps to take, and even plans to make before the Inquisitor had review the next day. It would be a busy evening. 

Jim saluted as Cullen and the rest of Skyhold watched the gates open for the party to return, and Cullen was briefly reminded of his childhood. It felt familiar, as he had once stood at the entrance of his home while his visiting family approached, but it was the cousin who he was excited to see, because he knew as soon as the parents got the boring greetings out of the way, they got to run into the fields to play. That's what it was, that old feeling -- He was  _ excited  _ to see Dorian. When had Skyhold begun to feel like home? And when had Dorian begun to feel like a mischievous friend with whom he could escape, away from pressing duties?

That thought was paused as the party rode in. Trevelyan seemed tired, but had a relieved smile for those who greeted him. Dorian was chatting with Iron Bull about something as Sera kept the rear. The crowd dispersed as the horses were led to the stables, Dorian finally catching his eye. Cullen gave him a grin, and Dorian responded by rolling his eyes, then grinning back. Not much fun in the Emerald Graves then, but happy to be back in Skyhold. Bull followed Dorian's gaze, seemingly unsurprised that it was Cullen there, but giving a respectful nod of the head. He continued chatting with Dorian as they moved to the greater hall, and he heard Dorian give a sarcastic laugh. A small anxiety tugged as his stomach that they were talking about him, but a reassured hand-waving from Dorian told Cullen that there was 'nothing to see here' and should get back to work. 

He would probably get to banter with Dorian when he had properly washed and rested up. Of course he would have to get to the Inquisitor as soon as he was ready for a conference, but he could probably see Dorian at the earliest, and, - he didn't realize he was smiling until he felt the smile fall at the small stack still on his desk. He silently reprimanded himself for his previous pacing and mental distraction. What was he doing? How long had he spent pacing? 

Distractions. . . he had his fill and now he had to get to work.

 

Cullen had eagerly been working to finish a report by his usual break time when Dorian had found him finishing up. He came in with his usual flair that brought life to the room. "Well! You're a sight for sore eyes. Go on, this is where you tell me how much you missed my exquisite face."

Cullen kept his eyes down not to give himself away. "And how was the. . .?"

"Emerald Graves."

"Right, of course. Has a week passed so soon?"

"Two weeks, Commander."

"Hmm, I haven't noticed."  Cullen looked up just in time to see the injured expression on Dorian's face before slipping into a grin.

Dorian rolled his neck to match his eyes. "Arse," he smirked. “Getting tricky now, are we? Is this because I said Dagna was my favorite?”

"I had to play chess with Solas, Dorian."

"Oh dear."

"He's too good. I think I was more stressed afterward."

"Perhaps our apostate friend can usurp your position."

"Perish the thought."

"Don't think he can pull off that ghastly coat of yours, though."

Cullen laughed and regarded Dorian fondly. "Of course I missed my chess partner."

"Well, you needn't any more. To the garden, then?"

“Won’t you need rest?” But Cullen was already rising to meet him.

“I imagine so, after the essentials.”

 

//

 

A day before the Inquisitor was to leave, Korvyn came to Dorian about the situation in the Exalted Plains. He had planned to let Dorian rest, but the scouts confirmed what he had suspected - there was an active Venatori presence there. “I could bring someone else, but I thought you might want to handle it personally,” Korvyn said quietly. 

“You’re not wrong, Inquisitor.”

“So you’ll come?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was so short notice that Dorian hadn’t had the time to say farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> \- I was always perturbed by the Red Lyrium we “destroyed” in the game. . . So how would the Inquisition deal with so much red lyrium in the world and keep it under control? I don’t have the answer to this question, nor the headcanon yet to implement the idea, but I give a small suggestion through Dorian  
> -Cullen missing his chess partner was the first part of this fic that I ever wrote, before I even really shipped this pair hardcore. It’s interesting to look back on that small drabble to see not only how much I’ve expanded on it, but also how it was an attempt at encapsulating that realization when you truly see someone as a friend. Noticing someone’s absence is usually the quickest way to realize how much you valued their presence.  
> -Seriously though, book-holders are so helpful in college to literally save your neck. Get some cheap wire-frame book-holders if you’re dealing with books, notes, and a laptop all at the same time.


	8. Nudge It Along

The soldier was bravely keeping back the demons as best he could, sweat soaking the clothes beneath his armor as he held his ground, loath to let any demon push him across the bridge towards the undead. A fire glyph was seen for just a moment beneath the tall, advancing demon before it burst into flame. The one behind it froze solid just as Cassandra rushed forward with a massive greatsword to shatter it to pieces. The demon that screeched in flames took a few more arrows before wisping into green flecks and vanishing from the world.

"Your Worship," the Corporal addressed Korvyn in shock as he observed the glowing hand, giving a slight bow as he was too exhausted for formality. His eyes widened as the Inquisitor raised his hand toward him, forming a glyph suspended in air, and pushed fire outwards – but the spell shot the flames around him like a breeze, crashing into a target behind him. A gasping undead fell into the trench below.

“Is there anyone else inside?” Korvyn asked him quickly.

“Only the dead.”

With the entire fort overrun with corpses rising to fight them, they had little time to talk, moving in quickly to cut down the undead that circled them. Dorian could feel the spirits of death pulling the air around him, looking for bodies to seep into. The veil was thin and they circled, though the others would not feeling their presence. They left a tangy scent strong enough to leave an acidic taste in the back of his throat. As soon as he felled one corpse, he called the spirit to do his bidding and set it on the rest. While it was a pit of fallen soldiers, it was also full of temporary allies.

Once the Arcane Horror in control of the corpses was demolished, Korvyn lit the fire to burn the rest of the bodies. “Maker, there’s so many of them.” He looked around to the trail of black blood they’d left behind them. “Why has no one given them their burial rights?” he asked.

Varric walked up, slinging Bianca over his back. “If this is from the civil war, there  probably wasn’t enough time or man-power for a proper pyre.”

“Maker guide them,” Cassandra said solemnly.

The Exalted Plains were not as labyrinthine as the Emerald Graves, but rather a lengthy stretch of house-fires, undead, and the scars on the land that showed the carnage of the war.The farther they moved north, a more ominous feeling settled in as bodies were left strewn on the road beside capsized carts. The midday sun was not helping matters and there was a perpetual foul smell. They decided to stay off the road and pass through a few open fields as they trudged onward. Korvyn, Dorian, Varric, and Cassandra walked through the shade where they could find it. 

“Pretty warm for the end of Harvestmere,” Varric commented, wiping his brow.

Dorian nodded, but he wasn’t nearly as bothered by it. “I don’t mind a bit of sun compared to the snow blowing into Skyhold.”

“It’s the fires around here. It makes a smokescreen and keeps in the heat,” Cassandra added.

“Oh!” Korvyn looked to others who looked immediately at him. “Oh no, are we going to miss Satinalia?”

Cassandra considered. “Now that you mention it, the new month starts in less than a week or so.”

Korvyn let out a tired groan. “I figured we would celebrate it at Skyhold- my first outside of a Circle. Can you imagine? With colorful streamers and a big feast. . .”

Varric walked over to Korvyn’s slouch and reached up to pat his shoulder-blade. “I’m sure Ruffles will fix up something small and decent for everyone while we’re away.”

“It’s too bad we have to miss it.” 

Dorian walked in companionable silence, thinking that the small gift Cullen had given him made more sense. He had left the book-holders on his usual chair in the library, but what if someone came by and thought they were for public use? They were  _ his _ . It would seem careless of him if they were lost that way. 

Still in a talking mood, Korvyn came up beside him. “Speaking of Skyhold, there are trainers who came recently,” he said as they took careful steps through the tall grass. “So I can find a more concentrated area of study for my magic when we get back, if I can make up my mind.”

“Ah, I imagine the Ostwick Circle fell before you had a chance for a specialization?”

“I don’t really know the full state of the Ostwick Circle, but my studies are on hold. Not like I’m going back, really. . .” He took a reflective moment before adding, “The reason I mention it is, well - how did someone like you get interested in necromancy? Or, I guess, how would you recommend it, if you would?”

“You’re seriously thinking about it?”

“I have all options open; don’t know what I should be serious about yet. You don’t seem worried about the undead around here like most of us are.”

 

It was a subject many never really bothered to ask Dorian about, and about which he never bothered to share the gritty details. He was often accused of being pampered, and in some ways that was true - he had refined taste and was forced to, in fact - but he knew the back streets of the slums just as well as a Magister’s ballroom. He had smiled at courtesans, edited theoretical mana-reserve papers, talked politics with sex workers, and had tavern swill thrown in his face - all in the same week. Pampered  _ and _ roguish indeed. Though not many knew the trials he endured gladly to gain the arcane secrets of the dead. Even in Tevinter, it was seen as a study for the “strange,” already making one pursuing the knowledge as some sort of miscreant or pervert, but also a potentially fearsome ally. Dorian, of course, was an academic, but the thing itself was not seductive in its power, but in its reputation, usefulness, and perhaps its own mystery.

Even as they walked the hot Exalted Plains, those memories chilled Dorian. Only with special permission had he spent time walking those dark and crumbling crypts older Andraste’s march, and even the Blight itself; piles of bones in mass graves of the slaves beside their masters in those pristinely carved mausoleums - gaping jaws and small skulls of those killed before their time. Some skeletons lay exposed on their marble beds in supplication to the devourers of flesh and to their dragon gods. Some were horribly disfigured in a curse; other tombs were mysteriously ransacked, opened from the inside,  and finally he would find the crypt of those old Magisters who were masters in the craft of necromancy. “Death mages” they were called, who took no apprentices until after their demise, taking their secrets literally to the grave. Dorian had to display power to them, to show, respectively, that he was powerful enough and cautious enough to create the undead for the purpose of preserving life. This was a crypt that had been visited often, even with many many years in between. In the ghostly spirit light, circular runes in old splattered blood were brown on the floor - Malificarum all too eager to learn these secrets. Dorian wondered if these students were successful- though such a risky appeal showed eagerness, it lacked respect.

The hard part was pressing through the fear. Even the staunchest skeptic walking through the crypts would easily be overcome with a sense of dread; of things being  _ not right _ in a way they could not explain. It was the fear magic given off by spirits on the other side of the veil; an emotion very fertile in the human mind with even a drop to supply it, so those spirits attracted to death could grow stronger. Fear, especially fear of death, could be so strong that it pulled whisps of spirits from the Fade without the help of Mortalitasi, jumping into corpses and satisfied by the screaming they caused.

He could feel the spirit energy in the room, pressing against reality. So many strong presences and forceful spells in one place had worn the Veil thin. Not just any spirit lingered on the other side, but those attracted to death. As souls passed from one plane to the next, the spirits sensed it, especially when magical blood was spilt. It was why battlefields, ruins, and the “barbaric Circles of the South,” it was told, had a moth-eaten Veil spitting out abominations. Spirits pressed and leaned upon it like wind against a shutter and even there, in the deep crypt, the spirits clawed from the other side.

Dorian would feel the hair on his arms and shoulder raise as black figures watched from the shadows. Humanoid, with an absence of space where eyes should be. Observers - spirits that were not physically on his plane, but could gaze through the keyhole of reality and be seen in return. Here he would sit with those decrepit remains with eyeless spirits watching him until the chill became familiar. He would find himself unafraid to place a steady hand and use spirit magic to try and breathe any sort of sentience back into what was as dormant as rock. And yet . . . those bones would grow warm to the touch, hiss at the spirit magic, corrupt it into something not floating and healing, but sticky, heavy, a muck to force together the motion and memories of what was long dead to something resembling a second life.  
The green mist would turn to purple smoke, and settle deep into the pocked joints and matted robes of the Necromagister. It did not rise, it did not move at all, but only teased Dorian, the smallest voice asking him to come closer, closer, and Dorian had to hold the skull to his own face, press it close to his ear as whispers in ancient Tevene whistled quietly through decayed teeth. It barely breathed the words, spoke in riddles, told ingenious methods as well as lies, and mentioned places and people and techniques Dorian had never heard of before, and he had no hand with which to take notes, as he dared not to move the fragile skull from where he could hear it.

Though others would have likely gone back, Dorian had done his research and respectfully placed his master back to rest before moving on to another crypt. One could only linger so long before a demon would sense an opening for attack. And that was only the first part.

He had to go to autopsies, to see how people moved from the inside out and how to maneuver and stretch a spirit into those joints. He had to know how far gone a corpse had to be before it couldn’t rise (always dependent on rate of decay; skeletons were still fair game), whether detached heads could still bite (not effectively), which corpses were worth the effort of rising. That the flesh was just flesh and even the mind itself was a slab of meat functioning in ways he could not comprehend.That a body was simple, predictable, but also sacred in its ingenuity.

He learned that the spirits attracted to death also thrived on fear - the fear they inspired as well as growing stronger by an already frightened enemy. After all, so many were afraid in their last moments, calling the spirits into the world. Panic spells became useful.

He had to make his own tome - nothing like what was made in the Circles - where one collected spells from other books with a few self made. This one was composed of spells from scratch. Too personal and shorthanded to be published, but exactly what he needed to know his fundamentals and then twist it any way that he could.

When he mentioned it as his prominent field of study, it may have revealed that there was something darker to Dorian; a darkness that comes with questioning the power of death. Death is fear, fear is powerful, but what would it mean to master that fear? It was a dread that everyone had yet lived beside every day, so what would it mean to confront it? It reminded him that he could die at any time but it was not his time - not until he did all he could. Until then, he would twist death to his will, befriend it to be on his side.

As he became more competent, the real reason for necromancy became more clear to him. This was an art once considered an honor; one last chance for someone after death to protect the living. Necromancers would raise their fallen comrades in the battlefield to continue their work of dedication. Of course, now it was not used for friends, but for spiritual control - letting a spirit puppet a body for one’s own gain. It was a morally grey avenue now, but Dorian didn’t mind. The corpses were not being used, so why shouldn’t he use them? Spirits understand the movement of what was in the memory of the body; a shadow of the former person with one last chance to fight.

And so, Dorian had taken pride in his research. He almost enjoyed the squirm someone might give at the mention of necromancy, because he controlled what they feared, and he would never have to be afraid of it again.

  
“I would say,” Dorian responded, trying to be thoughtful. “That it is a not a study one goes into without confidence that they want to be there.”

“But how would I know?”

“I have a book for you back at Skyhold you should look at. If every chapter interests you, and I do mean  _ every  _ chapter, then that’s how you’ll know. It’s an art that requires your full devotion for success.”

“How anyone has any interest is beyond me,” Cassandra added from behind them. “But perhaps you have a better temperament for it, Dorian. The way Mortalitasi obsess over it in Nevarra is. . . unnerving.”

“Well, reverence is so tiring. If you can’t joke about death, then you’ll always fear it.”

“I suppose that is one way of looking at it,” She grinned.

 

//   
  


Moments later, they found an area cleared of rubble from Inquisition scouts, abandoned by the presence of wyverns. They were getting tired, but cleared of beasts it would make a decent camp with its enclosed rock walls.  
“I’m going to mark this as a camp area, but maybe we should scout a bit ahead to make sure all is clear,” Korvyn said, marking a paper map with charcoal.

Varric sighed. “Well the ruins ahead either mean treasure, trouble, or both.”

“Two-thirds is not bad odds for this group,” Dorian said.  
But Korvyn did not have them pass through ruins for too long. A more puddled path led them to a flooded area. It was sulfuric in smell,interspersed with small spouts of fire. There were only a few more wyverns to clear out.

“Why is there shit on fire so close to water?” Varric asked with suspicion.

“Well, this is a swamp or a bog or something and that can happen. I think,” Korvyn replied.

“But not half-eaten corpses,” Dorian added, and they all paused for a moment on the human viscera spread around them.  
“Ah shit.”

At the first flap of large wings, Cassandra called for them to take cover.

 

//

  
  


It had been a bad morning.

He had seen it again, felt it again; when he had been held down and forced to watch. The screams of his childhood friends. They had lost limbs. Slowly. 

Cullen woke up thrashing in the confines of covers and rushed out of his bed. His body found the wall and he leaned against it before sliding down. Breath came quickly, and horrid images locked behind his eyelids wavered as he looked from wall to wall. This was physical - real. The slow drip of rainwater from the corner of his roof reminded him of where he was. It was cold, squalling outside, and it was safe. He took a slower breath, and shivered as the sweat on his skin cooled. Cullen felt the patchy aches in his muscles and slowly tried to sit up, but he could barely move or see for the migraine moving in waves over his skull. It felt better to stay where he was.

He woke up on the floor.  
Reality was slow in coming back to him when he tried to get dressed. He pulled the tunic over his head and the whisper of fabric almost sounded like the whispers of a dream. The early sounds of training carried, like the battles of the past calling back to him. It didn’t matter; he just had to push through until it all subsided like the usual white noise of Skyhold. He went to the barracks for training in the cold morning and moved around the castle for multiple errands with an itch nagging his mind that continued to dig deeper. As soon as he passed the threshold of his office door, he closed it immediately to hold himself in. He wanted to be alone, but four walls around him were too much, and his heart protested in a raging beat. He started to shake and everything was telling him to _get out get out get out_ before the walls closed in, but he couldn’t leave - he couldn’t let anyone see him. His eyes scanned for his desk and the immediate solution screamed at him. Lyrium was right there! He could stop feeling terrible immediately! It’d be so easy and he could be right back on his feet. If he had to quit, he could quit later. He wouldn’t be afraid - a better man instead of hiding in his office as he was. Cullen forced in slow gulps of air, and said a quick prayer to Andraste. It came out almost as a chant to stay grounded but it was working. He stared at the floor until he knew it was safe. 

As soon as the room became solid and ordinary instead of menacing, his thoughts immediately went to Cassandra. Would she have him step down, if she knew the state of him? Maybe he would have to talk to her - refer to her judgement. How bad had he gotten? The familiar mantra of  _ I deserve this _ was bubbling up, but he stomped it down.

He knew it must have been bad, because Cole had appeared in a corner of his office. His large, ghostly eyes regarded him.

“Not now, Cole,” Cullen grimaced as he moved to his window. The spirit made Cullen somewhat uneasy but he also knew Cole was mostly harmless to Inquisition allies. It was the confrontation of hard truths and nonsensical conversation that put people off.

“You’re in pain. . .” he said softly. 

“Yes.”

“But no fingers in your hair to help.”

A heat washed over Cullen’s face at the memory of Dorian’s comfort. In his sick haze he had almost forgotten about it, but of course Cole could pull those thoughts forward. Dorian had left so soon that it was like a fever-dream. The feel of Dorian’s hands carding through his hair almost made him feel ashamed now. “I don’t need it; I’m not a child.”

“ _Blue savior to a blue pain._ _Who am I without it?_ You have to want it. To be it.”

A dread pulled down on Cullen’s stomach. “To be what?”

Cole was suddenly right beside Cullen at the window. “You’re thinking of who you should be and not who you are.”

_ I could be better. _

“No,” Cole responded to his thought. “Your past wants are mixing up with your future wants; it’s all backwards”

_ Past wants _ \- lyrium. It was power; stability; the satisfaction of knowing he was a good soldier. But it was also numbness, a false confidence, reliance on something other than skill. That wasn’t what he wanted for his future. 

“Then you understand! Of course you knew, but it makes you forget,” Cole replied, and when Cullen turned to look at him, he was gone. The office was quiet again. Cullen rubbed a hand over his face. He still wasn’t fit to standard. He was almost stumbling down the stairs as he walked towards the blacksmith to find Cassandra for advice, but once he reached the door he stopped. Why was he here? Cassandra was gone; he couldn’t tell her anything. He looked up a moment and saw that everyone else was going about their business like usual. Casual, calm. He took another deep breath and felt himself become more like them. Everything could be normal, at least on the outside. It would look strange to stand in front of the Blacksmith’s door, so he walked in.

The tall ceiling amplified how it was almost empty. Of course Cassandra wasn’t there, but Cullen recognized one of her people as a former Chevalier. She was standing over a familiar little girl who sat on a bench. When Robin saw Cullen, she turned her head to avoid looking at him. 

“Commander,” Ser Ando addressed him with a slight Orlesian accent, somewhat surprised with crossed arms. She looked from Cullen to Robin, finding the timing advantageous. “This girl was being completely unruly and was asking for Seeker Pentaghast. I brought her in here to calm down.”  _ That makes both of us. _ Cullen looked to Robin who was holding in pitiful tears.   
“Are you alright?” Cullen asked Robin neutrally.    
Ando answered for her. “She attacked another child, Commander. Perhaps you might want to say something?” Ando seemed to have everything under control, suggesting she wanted him to be a sobering force of intimidation. Robin sat there wet-faced with a stubborn frown; She wanted understanding, not a scolding. 

Cullen sat down, his head sore while standing. “You hurt someone?”  

Robin rubbed her eyes and then wiped her nose with her left hand. Her right hand was bruised. “I punched him because he said I was half-elf.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, he said it like it was funny.”

Would it be bad form to smile? Probably. Cullen looked to Ando for confirmation on her story, but she shook her head. 

“You thought he was teasing you?”

“He  _ was _ . Because dad was an elf.” 

Of course, she had mentioned being an orphan. “Do you know what I do? As Commander?”

“You send the army after people.”

“The Inquisitor’s army, yes, but only as a last resort. If there’s a problem, you have to use your words first.” 

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“You have to find an adult who will put them right. Then he’ll get in trouble, and your fist won’t have to hurt. Alright?” 

She nodded and met his eyes, one small hand rubbing the injured fist. “Where’s the Lady Seeker?”

“She’s with the Inquisitor.”

“Oh. Fighting bad people. . .” Robin said.

Ser Ando looked to Cullen. “Should she apologize, Ser?”   


Cullen turned to Robin. “Are you sorry?”

“No.”   
Ando huffed, but Cullen nodded. “You don’t have to apologize unless you’re actually sorry. I won’t encourage lying.” He stood up. “But you’re going to have to talk with him.”

“Fine.” Robin crossed her own arms not unlike Ando. 

Ser Ando nodded to the girl. “You wait outside as I manage this commission.”

Robin jumped up and rushed outside, black hair bouncing. Ser Ando shook her head and starting crossing out numbers on a list for weapon sharpening.   
“Sorry to bother you, Commander.”

“Where’s the boy? He had to have learned that from somewhere.” A memory crawled up from Haven - the mage who warned him to keep track of inside conflicts.   
“Just getting a bloody nose fixed,” Ando replied. “He’ll get a stern talking-to. The elven groundskeeper is looking for an assistant, so maybe he could learn a thing or two.”

Cullen nodded, and turned to leave. He didn’t have to pretend to have business here, with Ando distracted. “Don’t be too hard on her,” he added before he left.

Robin was outside as she was told and she glanced at Cullen. He had been so busy with the affairs outside of Skyhold that the ones inside could be easily overlooked. These were people who needed his help, too. He could only give her, quietly, the same advice his mother had given him. “Remember: the thumb goes on the outside of the fist, not inside. And only do that if no one will help you.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

  
  


//

The awful screech of the falling dragon shook the earth; the protection spells Dorian threw out were the only advantage to keep them on their feet. A constant rush of improvisation and magical pull on the Fade was leaving Dorian exhausted in the knee-high waters; the others slowed their own pace as the dragon tested their instinct to stay alive. All senses were assaulted in the gust of wings, the slashing of claws, the sharp lashes of lightning. Dorian downed a lyrium potion and tossed the flask to the side as the beast finally limped lower. Cassandra and Varric were craftily managing its movements, but Korvyn looked worse for wear. His head was bleeding profusely and he crouched as he reached into his mana reserves for more power. Dorian began to move toward him when Korvyn looked down to his hand - the anchor. It glowed with a charge similar to how he closed rifts, and he twitched his fingers before raising his hand to the sky. A small rift appeared right over the dragon’s maw, pulling everything toward it in a ring of green. It was an unleashed rift magic Dorian hadn’t yet seen, and it greedily grasped at the dragon’s existence, trying to rip it forcefully into the Fade. That was enough to steal away its soul as it let out a final shriek.

Korvyn supported his weight against his staff, then fell face-first into the swampy water. Dorian rushed to him and pulled Korvyn back onto his knee, the others keeping the last of the dragonlings off him.

“Alright, Korvyn, time to get up now.”

“What is it?” Cassandra shouted to him.

Korvyn grimaced through wet hair, his half-open eyes looking far past Dorian, trying to will his body to curl in pain. 

“I don’t feel right,” he whispered.

It was then that Dorian saw the massive gash from a dragon claw that had ripped through his side. This was beyond his capacity. “Shit,” Dorian cursed, as warm blood spilled over his leg and into a growing red pool in the swamp’s brown water. Maybe he could do this, he just had to concentrate on - how was he going to summon a healing spirit now? No, he could heal Korvyn, if he just twisted the rules a bit.  
“Heal him!” Cassandra called again, starting to advance on them. Varric was coming up beside her, cursing as he saw Korvyn’s state.

“Hold on- I just need to-” The purple smoke of the Death Siphon filled his hands.

“Dorian, what are you-?”

“Shut up - just shut up a moment!”

He pressed his hands on Korvyn’s head and chest. To his surprise, it was working, and it was rather painful, like a blade to a vein. Was this what his enemies felt when he sapped their wellness from them? Color came back to Korvyn’s face and he opened green eyes wide, focusing them this time. As Dorian felt himself go faint, he felt victorious.

“Dorian?” Korvyn asked.  
But he saw no more.

 

The ground was uncomfortable around him, but he was sitting upright, he noticed. They were still in the swamp, if the smell was an indicator. Dorian opened tired eyes and looked into Korvyn’s face. His eyes were welled up with tears. “Dorian! Shit, Maker, are you okay?” he asked, and then immediately scrunched his face into anger and hurt.   
“Yes, though-”   
“Asshole! Don’t you  _ ever _ do that again!” Korvyn blinked rapidly to keep back his tears. “Did you hear what I said? Never use your necromancy like that again - That’s an  _ order _ .” He stood up and turned away to wipe his face as the other companions looked at each other and then at Dorian. Dorian slowly used his elbows to sit up from a slouch.

“You realize we had two down mages?” Varric murmured.

Dorian rubbed his head, feeling remarkably better. That must have been because of Korvyn. “Better than a dead Inquisitor,”

“ _ No _ -” Korvyn turned back around to argue and pointed a finger. “That’s not the exchange! That was a dangerous move and you know it.”

“The healing was taking too long - there was no time for hoping, just doing what I could.”

“Using your magic like that-! The risk-!” Korvyn’s face was an impressive red as he gestured wildly.

“I mean no offense to all gathered,” Dorian stated plainly, “But you’re more important than any of us.”

“Then maybe if I bring a  _ proper _ fucking healer next time, no one will go down!” he yelled and looked away. “I’m - Shit, sorry. Maker, I’m tired.”

“No, you’re right.” Dorian was feeling a steadily growing anger as well at his own incompetence. “I’m lacking in that area. And maybe you should have known sooner.”

“Yes, we should have,” Cassandra scolded.

“It wasn’t powerful enough to - to exchange my life or anything like that. Just to give you some of my own health.”

“You looked so sickly, how was I supposed to know that, Dorian?” Korvyn asked, now lowering his voice into one seeking reason. “How were any of us - How were _you_ supposed to know that when you’re already weakened?”  
They all seemed to avoid eye contact in discomfort, and Korvyn shoved a hand into his hair. “Look, let’s. . . let’s just get back to a camp for a breather. We’re done for the day.” He started walking back the way they came, and Cassandra followed. Varric offered Dorian a hand, which he took, and they trudged after the Inquisitor.

 

//

 

After a tentative silence initiated by Cassandra and Korvyn at the camp, Varric and Dorian were more delicate in their conversations. As scouts arrived to make the camp into something more fortified, Korvyn relaxed and became more like his usual self with people and problems around to distract him. At the end of the day, he quietly offered to show Dorian how to better practice some healing magic, though even he had to admit how fickle the spirits seemed to be with Dorian’s hands. In return, Dorian helped him with some of his spell creations that sat unfinished in his tome.

With darkness having come hours earlier, Cassandra had already moved to her tent to rest after shouldering so much finesse in the dragon battle. Varric, Korvyn, and Dorian remained around the fire for just a bit longer. The weather was more fair than they had felt for a while and Dorian enjoyed the balmy air and soft sounds of grasses.

“ -So when Josie clenched the deal with a smile, I was blown back. Who would have known she could be ruthless?”

“Never doubt an Antivan,” Varric smirked.

“Honestly, I always knew she had it in her,” Dorian added. “Your advisors are called such for a reason, you know.”

“They all work so hard that it makes me want to keep going too,” Korvyn sighed. “But I understand the need to pace myself. At least Leliana understands that information comes with patience. Cullen, though; he doesn't take anything lightly. When he decides to do something, he's in it for the long haul. It's a nice quality, but sometimes I just want to say 'look, it's okay, take the day off.'”

Dorian gave a short laugh. “That’s an ambitious endeavor. And here I’ve only managed a few hours every couple days.”

"I noticed. So. . ." Korvyn started, in a foreboding way which meant Dorian may have to reply to something uncomfortable. "I have to ask-"

"Uh oh," Varric supplied. Dorian agreed.

"Oh, look, it's nothing bad, just. . . I'm curious."

"The suspense is killing me," Dorian deadpanned.

"I just, uh? Was wondering. Anything. . . with you and Cullen?"

Dorian scoffed. "'With me and Cullen?'"

"You seem to have really hit it off as friends, and I was just wondering about it. You know. If anything. . . you know. " Korvyn fidgeted and looked into the fire. First Vivienne was concerned about their friendship, now Korvyn.

"My dear Inquisitor, are you sad that I don't flirt with you so much anymore? That was for Josie's sake. If you need me for a jealousy plot, I can try my best."

Patchy red started to crawl up Korvyn’s face. Varric's mouth suppressed a smirk, seemingly stuck between emotions from what he wanted to express, and what would be the best way to stay out of it. Korvyn stammered."I- look now, I see you trying to turn this around on me, you know."

"Is it so hard to believe that the Commander and I are steadfast friends?" He felt a little stung that Korvyn might think he had ulterior motives. It would be an easy idea to jump to - anyone with want of power would try to cozy up to the Inquisitor or his advisors.

"Not at all. You both get on like a house on fire. Which is why I asked."

"You and the fire," Varric said.

"Maybe it seems unusual, given his past, but we have quite a lot in common."

"I  _ know _ that, Dorian. That's why I figured you might work together with recruits in the first place. I only mean. . .Cullen's a lot more blunt with his feelings about things, and while you're definitely opinionated, you're still. . . "

"Inscrutable?"

"Yes! Thank you, Varric. So maybe you don’t realize. . .If you're just friends, that's great! I just thought you- anyway. I was just wondering."

Despite his babbling, Dorian understood immediately. "Oh, you are  _ adorable _ . You think I'm earnestly pursuing him? And you don't want me to- what-get my feelings hurt?"

Korvyn rubbed the anchor on his hand nervously. "Only. . . I don't know. I haven't seen you really get along with anyone else so famously, but he's woefully into women."

"Sounds like you already tried," Varric supplied, but Korvyn ignored him.

“I'm not so inexperienced as to go after uninterested men."

Korvyn gave a relieved sigh "That's good; You've got great chemistry. That keeps us strong, you know, as a unit. Bonds and unity are more important than any kind of . . . romance or . . . Maker, I'm tired. I was going somewhere with that. Or saying something."

"More 'some' than 'thing,'" Varric grinned.

“Well, I'm turning in. Have a good rest." Korvyn lazily stood and moved toward his tent.

Varric stoked the fire and continued the conversation. "There's more there than you're letting on, Sparkler."

"Oh?"

"So you say you're just friends. Are  _ you _ okay with that?"

"Why wouldn't I-" Dorian sighed in exasperation. How was this such a culture shock to them? "So I like flirting with the man. He can tell me off himself if it’s an issue."

"No need to be defensive. Just be glad it's me you're having this conversation with and not Bull. "

"Let me guess, everyone thinks I'm after the Commander?"

"Not at all! Korvyn may worry about that, but I think I know better." He shifted and moved his feet a little closer to the fire. "So you both get along really well. Great. Here's the thing- I don't pretend to know anything about Cullen's  _ personal _ life, but the guy acts a little differently around you. In fact, I'd say he's more susceptible than you'd think."

"Don't be ridiculous Varric, the chest hair does that for you."

"That's a very nice deflection, Sparkler, but we both know what my chest hair gets me." He smiled. "Our Commander. . . I've been getting to know him better. He's used to people being in certain groups, ranked by authority all day every day for most of his life. The Inquisition has changed a lot of that. A green young mage like Korvyn suddenly leading a growing power, and all sorts of new recruits and agents joining in, all with a chain of command - but loose social authority. I bet that's weird on a guy like him who isn't used to mixing with the outside rabble like us. I know Templars." Varric stared into the fire, caught in some past memory. "And believe me, a guy like that is sure to always get attention, but he's unused to being treated like an equal. Either people take command from him, or he takes command from someone else. Even after the Chantry explosion, he was still using the Templars to rebuild the city as Knight-Captain, even though he was Knight-Commander by default. Templars and mages would fight in the streets. It was a damn mess; still is. Anyway, this is new shit for a lotta folks here.

"And then here swoops in the handsome Tevinter mage, different from everything he's known about mages, and giving him attention as a human being instead of a Commander. Don't give me that look, I know you think I'm a hack writer, but these patterns are cliche for a reason. "

"I think maybe you're not giving him enough credit. That's no reason to think he'd take my flirting seriously. " Dorian waved a dismissive hand.

"I thought a self-proclaimed experienced guy like yourself would notice the way he reacts to you. He puts aside time for you when I can barely get him out for drinks- which is a shame, because he has a lot of great stories. He stands up for you a lot if you’re brought up in conversation, but then is secretive about you like he wants to keep it to himself. Lots of small stuff like that. What, are you so used to people admiring your looks that you don't notice the difference?"

"You think. . ." It wasn’t an  _ impossible _ idea, but Cullen’s actions were always honest yet subtle. It was merely the mark of respect, just as he would do for Korvyn, probably.

"Are we having revelations, Sparkler? I’m just saying. It might be nothing, but if you're not serious about Curly like that, then you may want to ease off a bit before he starts taking it that way."

He still had a chance to back out of the conversation. Dorian was still certain that Cullen wouldn’t think of him that way so easily, but also, why should he compromise being himself?

"And what if I don't want to?"

Varric lifted an eyebrow. "Don't want to ease off on flirting, or don’t want to remain unserious about him?"

Dorian rolled his eyes. "What do you think?"

"Hard to say. Don't really take you as the kind who's content to be someone's experiment."

"With a face like his? Are you joking?"

"Like I said, I don't know his  _ personal  _ history, but best not to scare him off. He's got to figure things out for himself."

". . .Or I could nudge it along,"

Varric put a hand to his face."Sweet Andraste, I hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass. Just wait until Corypheus is dealt with will you? "

"Oh, but you won't tell that to Trevelyan?"

Varric paused and scratched his chin. "Well, shit, you got me there. But who knows if Ruffles even likes him? She's too smart to make stupid moves."

"You guys know these tents don't block sound?" Korvyn huffed from a tent.

They both raised their shoulders, caught gossiping. They caught each other’s eyes and spoke lower. "I’m only joking, Varric. You really have no need to worry."

“I don’t know, I don’t usually trust a Tevinter as far as I can throw him.”

“But you’ve got an excellent throw.”

“That’s true.”

  
  


// 

  
  


By the end of their traveling through the Exalted Plains, the Venatori had been easy to find. The open valleys peppered with large stone monoliths created an echo, revealing demons, undead, and whispers of soldiers and the unfriendly. Only the Dalish were seen when they wanted to be seen. This of course meant that the Inquisition was loud too, but the Venatori were out of their element. 

This was the entire reason why Dorian had felt the need to come - the trouble his countrymen were inciting gave him a personal reason to strike them down. He knew Cassius at one time at the Vyrantium Circle; and while Dorian had always thought of him as more of a prick than he needed to be, seeing someone turn this drastically was sobering. Tevinter supremacy had deep tendrils somewhere in the Circles.

They had come upon the Venatori as they walked, mumbling about something, and Cassius turned in time to see the Inquisitor before firing off ice glyphs. He recognized Dorian with a snarled “Pavus?” when he should have been looking for Varric. Two daggers in the back had him down, and with everything else that had happened, it seemed strangely unremarkable and disappointing. The others rifled through their things as if they were a group of any other bandits or thugs, but Dorian kept looking at his old classmate’s body. He wasn’t fighting strangers any more. 

Dorian translated a few scraps of parchment in Tevine, though it didn’t help much. They were consolidated knowing any field agent Ventari taken down was worth it, and they prepared to leave. Korvyn said he would have to come back after the bridge to Citadelle Du Corbeau was renewed, around the same time he would sweep through the Emerald Graves again. Dorian figured he was trying to get as much done as possible before the pressure of attending the Winter Palace was all that could occupy his mind. They didn’t mention the talk around the campfire, and Dorian was fine with that.

 

Korvyn was very determined to reach Skyhold before the holiday, but changed his mind when he realized they would still miss it if they rode all night. They instead spent Satanalia in a small Orlesian town on the way back to the Frostbacks. It was a tiny place, decorated with colorful ribbons and harvest foliage, and Inquisition scouts were already ensuring the safety of the place when they arrived. They tried to be inconspicuous at first, but the glow of Korvyn’s hand made him instantly recognizable - and popular. 

The people there knew a smattering of Common, and the companions only knew a smattering of Orlesian, but they somehow managed to get main points across with a few laughs in between. The pious wanted to bring Korvyn to their small wooden chantry, but the majority settled them in at a nameless tavern which was also the only tavern. Korvyn had no idea that he would create such a fuss, and as soon as word started to spread, he told them to keep it within the town. Locals showed up within the hour like it was some holiday miracle. Dorian was just happy to have a meal they didn’t have to cook from rations. Despite their small community, they apparently had large meals prepared all day, as this was their main gathering spot for Satinalia, and the party didn’t feel as if they were intruding. 

All in all, it was more cheer than they’d had in ages and people came to celebrate in their own small way. Unlike the nobles, these Orlesians only got to wear masks once a year, and seemed delighted just to have the stirred-up atmosphere of visitors. Once they also realized who Varric was, the night promised to be long.

Before leaving at first light, the owner asked Korvyn to name his tavern for prosperity. Korvyn was flustered, so Varric suggested something to do with his hand, or the anchor. Because of the rural Orlesian pidgin, they were lost in translation over breakfast, but when the owner tried a rough drawing of a green boat anchor, they all agreed it was perfect.   
It was quiet and cold on the road as the sun brought streaks of pale pink across the sky. The vacant, calm path ahead in grassy hills felt more stark after the night of drinking.    
Cassandra broke the silence with a soft question. “Did you enjoy your first Satinalia outside the Circle?”   
“Well, it was different,” Korvyn stated, embarrassed. “It was. . . really great, considering.”

Varric chuckled. “It’s nice to see what you do for people firsthand, huh?”

“Somehow I thought I might not be welcome. I get enough flak from the letters of nobles from around here.”

“Seems like the average folk don’t mind,” Dorian added.   
Varric gave a thoughtful hum. “And to think they used to hate mages.”

After seeing what a good time Korvyn had, Dorian didn’t regret his hasty move of healing him one bit - and not because of his title, but because he was Korvyn. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to do it again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> -some seasonal necromancy talk for you. I wrote this long exhibition on necromancy but couldn’t be bothered to write an exciting dragon battle. That’s also what happens when you pour your ability points into necromancy instead of resurrection and run into a dragon.  
> -For our companions, Satinalia is an interesting fall festival with gift giving around the first day of November. It seems to be like Mardi Gras and Christmas combined in Autumn that celebrates the second moon. You know, the one that inquisition completely left out. . .  
> -Also, if you look around on youtube, you can find ambient dialogue of the advisors around Skyhold - which reveals that Cole and Cullen regularly leave each other notes! It reveals a lot in terms of character: accepting a spiritual entity, but also accepting help privately.  
> -Also, er, don’t encourage kids to hit people. Lol. (I headcanon Cullen’s dad as being the nice, calm one who made him be responsible, while his mom was the feisty one who told him to punch people if they were rude. [truly, the Ferelden way.])


	9. I'm Right Here

On the second day of Firstfall, the horses trudged through the light snow on the path toward Skyhold. From a distance it was almost camouflaged, gray against the rocky mountain side. Rays of light passed over the mountains and hit the spires and they lit up in the frosty air. When they all finally came close enough to see small lights from the towers and outside barracks, it felt like a beacon of welcome and they all picked up a bit more speed. The thought of getting out of a hot bath and into a cozy bed was heavenly, though Dorian also found himself wide awake with the familiar loud bustle of the castle up ahead. 

Once they entered through the portcullis, a small crowd had gathered to welcome them and they noticed Varric had been right - there were a few Satanalia cloth streamers on the Tavern and great hall entrance. Of course Josephine had to do a little something for the holiday. Dorian looked up to the ramparts as they rode toward the stables, but the Commander wasn’t standing there as he usually would. Dorian immediately thought that he might be ill again, but decided it was best not to jump to conclusions. The companions all slid off their horses, sore and stiff, and started making their way towards food or rest. 

Dorian took a long bath and tried to let the hot water dilute the strange shame he felt. He didn’t used to care much about what others thought of him here and part of him still didn’t, but since the companions were becoming closer, he didn’t want to let them down. Not using proper healing was letting them down; Barely being able to help Korvyn was letting them down; Having to question his motives with their Commander was letting them down. Of course hiccups were going to happen, but when it came to his magical skills, he was the one who cleaned up the messes when things got difficult - and he valued that reputation. Unfortunately, other reputations preceded him when it came to his social life. Part of Dorian wanted to sleep the rest of the day away and forget it, but he also wanted to feel  normal again and slip into the comfort of wandering Skyhold while he had time to do so. 

The thought of gift-giving occasionally rolled over in his mind and he felt foolish for not having a gift in return for Cullen. When he made it back to his room freshly clean, Dorian moved his eyes over his belongings for some tiny scrap of an idea. A book wouldn’t do since they had the library; Cullen wouldn’t like any clothing that would be picked out for him; He would probably refuse anything expensive. Dorian started digging through his own things, but he had left so much behind in the move south. Maybe there was still something useful.

At the bottom of his trunk he saw it - a foldable pocket knife from Qarinas with a cherrywood and bronze handle. It had been won from a gambling addict who had been playing up its worth. Supposedly, it was dwarven-made and would never rust, but Dorian had no use for it, other than sentimentality of his teen years. The blade was handsome, but not flashy, and it could be useful. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t pawned it on the way south, but it was probably because he had forgotten about it. Well, it wasn’t a great gift, but it wasn’t a  _ terrible _ gift. To attempt some modicum of civility, he wrapped it in a black handkerchief and tucked it away on his person.

 

When Dorian went to Cullen’s office, he braced himself in case the Commander really was ill again, but the scout at the ramparts said that he wasn’t even there - he had gone to the training grounds with the “Knight-Captains.” Dorian’s curiosity was brewing, so he made his way down the Skyhold steps, out of safety of the castle and into the piled up snow outside of it. He spied Madame Vivienne working with mages across the way with staff technique, bundled up in magnificent grey furs against the icy wind. Closer were the non-mages fighting with blades in a scene somewhat reminiscent of Haven. Cullen stood out amongst them in red, though the frost and snow had dulled the colors with a white sheen. 

The Commander was talking with an armored woman, who Dorian had to presume was one of the Knight-Captains, when another man in armor approached them. The man, with wind-tousled hair and an easy smile above a chin tattoo, came up and  _ hugged _ Cullen. Dorian had never seen Cullen hug anyone, yet there he was, embracing this man back with comfortable ease and keeping a hand on his shoulder. The woman left to let them talk, patting the armored man on the bicep. There was an air of fraternity around all of them. Cullen spied Dorian hanging back and waved him over. In the morning cold, Cullen was actually wearing a cloth scarf around his neck. The shade of the mountain was merciless, and Dorian pulled up his own hood as the wind cut tirelessly through his path. 

“Dorian,” He smiled. “You’re back in one piece.”

“Yes, somehow. Might be missing any naive enthusiasm for legwork.”

“Not too much different, then.” Cullen gestured to the other man. “This is Knight-Captain Rylen. Rylen, this is Dorian Pavus.”

“Ah, you’re a Templar?” Dorian asked. These had to be the last renegades who hadn’t turned red against the Chantry. 

“I’m Inquisition, now,” Rylen nodded, with some frost sticking to his hair. “Few years ago I was positioned in Starkhaven, but sent to Kirkwall after the Chantry explosion. It was for relief efforts, working second under Cullen.”

“He was the best help I could have asked for,” Cullen added.

Rylen brushed off the compliment.“With the shite you were handed, any help would seem a godsend. Everything’s a damned mess, but at least the lines are getting more solid. Inquisition versus the ‘Elder One.’ That’s an easier fight.”

“You think so?” Cullen asked dubiously.

“Well, easier on my conscience, maybe,” he said, somewhat under his breath. “And Ser Pavus, you’re at the side of the Inquisitor?”

Cullen’s gloved hand moved from Rylen’s shoulder to Dorian’s. “He’s one of the best mages we have and the only one from Minrathous.”

Dorian turned to Cullen in surprise. He knew Cullen spoke his mind, but he hadn’t expected to have his ego stroked. Rylen looked impressed and seemed to give him a proper look-over. “You’re a Magister?”

Cullen gave Dorian a quick look, but Dorian wasn’t about to get into the intricacies of the Mageocracy with a man he just met. He had saved that for Korvyn.

“More or less,”Dorian replied.

“Glad you’re on our side, then.”

Dorian risked a small tease. “The mages don’t make you nervous, Knight-Captain?” 

“The Inquisitor’s a mage,” Rylen shrugged. He said it like that was all anyone needed to know. One of the pious, then. 

“And he’ll put you to work soon enough,” Cullen said. “Where’s the other new recruit?” 

“Barris is catching a meal. He wanted to meet you first thing, but I insisted he not keel over.”

“Fair enough. Since the Inquisitor is back, I should probably head up.”

“I’ll meet you for a pint later; we have a lot of catching up to do,” Rylen nodded with a slight smile. “Nice to meet you,” he added to Dorian. 

“Likewise,” Dorian replied, and when Cullen started to move, Dorian walked beside him. 

“You’re coming up too, Dorian?”

“Well yes. I was curious to see who these new Knight-Captains were. Are they comfortable with having to face other Templars?”

“Many of the ex-Templar recruits are taking their battles quite personally, actually. Some of those they fight are former colleagues, so they see it as a duty to. . . Well. Cut them down.”

Dorian thought about that a moment, quite familiar with that type of battle already. Killing a nameless stranger was always easier, but perhaps intimacy was what made one fight with more ferocity - the feeling of betrayal. “I’m sure you’re relieved that Rylen never turned.” 

“Maker, I’m just glad he isn’t dead. Rylen, Briony, and Barris are new here, with their own loyal followers.” They made their way up the steps, breaking into the sunlight. “Did you see red Templars out there on the Plains?” he asked.

“Not since the Emerald Graves. Just Venatori, droves of undead, demons, and - ah yes, a dragon.”

Cullen turned his head slightly to him with a look of disbelief and sympathy. “Luckily nothing you couldn’t handle.”

“Of course.  _ I’m one of the best mages you have. And the only one from Minrathous. _ ” Dorian quoted cheerfully.

Cullen moved his eyes skyward in irritation. “Forget I said anything.” 

“Of course not!  _ Please _ brag about me to all of your friends.” Dorian bumped against his shoulder but Cullen only shook his head.

“You’ll be nice, I hope?”

“Of course I’ll be  _ nice _ . Who do you think I am? Well, alright, I suppose there  _ were _ a few times- ” Dorian waved away the memories with a gesture. “In any case, don’t you have a board to prepare for me?”

“Oh,” Cullen looked to him as they approached the Skyhold entrance. “Sorry, I’ll be in meetings the rest of the day. With the Inquisitor back and the Knight-Captains offering aid, there’s a lot to sift through.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Commander.”

Cullen patted his shoulder as he separated toward the stairs to his office. “Rest up, then. I’ll see you later.”

 

That was fine with Dorian. 

He caught up in his books, went to the healer for tips (it was a matter of pride never to ask Solas or Vivienne), and went to bed. The next day, however, Cullen was absent because he had gone to Cassandra. The day after that, Knight-Captain Rylen had absconded with him to the tavern, which Dorian had rarely achieved. He didn’t quite feel like mingling with them there. So he read. Brushed up on Orlesian. Bothered Varric. Was pleasingly sarcastic with Solas. Dorian had to check himself, because he didn’t want to reach embarrassing proportions of appearing at the Commander’s office, which seemed to only be avoided by having different scouts at the ramparts. Their spare moments were somehow not aligning and it was a strange week of absence. He almost had the nerve to send a formal invitation to chess to remind the Commander of his existence, but he knew that this was a military operation. He had no right to demand his time. More reading and waiting for book requests to come in; Successfully planning a larger radius for chain lightning; Looking out the window. Funny, there was a time when Dorian Pavus never waited on anyone - they waited on him. Was he being clingy, or was this a normal response? He had only few friends, and he was used to the act of having assigned time put aside; it was proper etiquette. Casual friendships seemed more up in the air and he wasn’t sure what to do with it now that he wasn’t quite getting his way. At least books always waited for him.

  
  


//

 

Dorian woke up in a mood. "Frustrated" was the obvious descriptor, but it was a combination of a lot of things. His research was reaching hurdles by meager resources that could only be resolved by  _ waiting  _ for more to show up; he was feeling cabin fever at Skyhold despite being on multiple trips and resolved to set fire to any bed-roll he saw in the near future; Cullen was too busy for him since the Knight-Captains ate up his time; Everyone was becoming more genial and friendly with him as a member of the Inquisition but continued to keep a distance of respect – as much as he enjoyed refreshing honesty, few would try to match wits or joke with him besides the inner circle; and, in the simplest terms, he just wanted to get off with someone.

Maker preserve him, but it had been a while. It didn't help that Cullen’s recruits would run half-naked on the ramparts almost every morning. Even worse, hardly anyone would flirt with him. It was a game he adored, but the bluntness of Fereldens found it brash, while Orlesians found it to be an invitation when it wasn't. Korvyn always played along, of course. Iron Bull did as well, though his innuendos were not as crafty as full of puns. He only understood about half of what Sera said, and Cullen was becoming immune to his flirting though he still got a few good eyerolls here and there.

Of course, though he wanted attention, he need never demand it. Attention came to him by being himself. He would show off, of course. Preen. Display. He wanted to be admired or pursued at the very least. What he wanted was a full tilt seduction, but he didn't know for whom.  _ For myself first, I suppose _ . Or perhaps the world. 

He spent time on himself that morning, going at his grooming products as if they weren't carefully rationed. He always took more time than anyone else to get ready, but today was for precision. Fading the hair length here, mustache wax there; precision with kohl around his eyes and sharp eyebrows. He chose an aftershave just faint enough to make someone lean into the smell, and finished with pulling on his embroidered cream robes that made the tone of his skin stand out handsomely. He turned away from the mirror with a smile; he knew he looked particularly good and it would enjoy being out and being seen.

To the training grounds, then.

 

Though the barracks and training ground outside the castle were for the masses of recruits, the area beside the blades-smith was reserved for any of the inner inhabitants to use. Cassandra, Bull, and Krem were the most frequent users, and Korvyn then had a small wooden ring set up in the middle for one on one help. Many officers liked to try their mettle against each other there. It was a warm day, but snow was scattered in corners, and many people were out and about for the opportunity to train. Dorian worked magic-less with a senior enchanter - a former apostate in her 40s who had remarkable strength with a staff from living off the map. When she went to rest, an older teen with a wooden sword wanted to spar. Several people with spare time would stop to watch a while, then move on. 

The sun was getting higher, but Dorian had a lot of steam left. He took off his robe to rest on the wooden beam and then loosened his leather strappings when he heard a wolf-whistle behind him. When he turned, Bull was grinning at him. A few people had turned at Bull’s whistle and were now interested in the scene unfolding.

“Huh. Need a target for that aggression, 'Vint?” He asked, leaning his large body against the fence. 

Dorian gestured to the open ring behind him in invitation. “How about it, Bull?”

Above, he saw Cullen walk the bridge toward the rotunda, engrossed in the paperwork he held. 

_ Look at me. I’m right here. _

 

//

 

Cullen moved into the Main Hall to Josephine’s office. Korvyn and Briony were there, after negotiating where Briony could be best put to use. She still wanted to organize her men, so they decided to head to the barracks together. Korvyn gave a short laugh as soon as they exited the Hall. There was some sort of rabble going on in the fighting circle.

From the top of the steps, he could see that it was Dorian and Iron Bull in some sort of spar. Iron Bull held back strongly with nothing but a shield. 

“Oh, that seems fun,” Briony commented, and started moving down the steps.

Cullen followed. The two were shirtless, but Dorian was sweating, clearly battling the equivalent of a wall. Iron Bull was immoveable, as Dorian attempted different jabs in. Bull circled easily and when Dorian threw just a tad too much weight, his strong fist came down to grab the staff right at its center. Dorian clenched his arms hard to keep his grip, but he was no match for Bull’s strength.The staff was snatched from his hands.

“Well, that’s not fair,” he said, catching his breath.   
“So what would you do with that move?” Bull asked. 

“Use my hands, of course.”

“Not against a Templar, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, right, you’re very strong. You’ve made your point.” Dorian straightened up at the loss, and his composure changed. He cracked his neck from side to side and brushed a hand through his hair. 

Bull shook his head and moved outside of the circle. “You can’t depend on your fighters all of the time.”

“Why not?” Dorian grinned. 

A young man with a wooden sword who had been idling by the side stepped in to try practicing and Dorian moved against him with little hesitation. 

“Good,” Korvyn commented to them. “It’s like the mages have fully integrated with everyone else. I’m glad Dorian’s giving our officers some spar training; he’s been cooped up for a while.”

“Has he?” Cullen mumbled. He had been exhausted most of the week, from planning their movements, to mingling with the Knight-Captains at their insistence. He liked them and respected them, but his illness had him on by a thread some days. He only wanted to recover.

But now, as they came side by side with the training fence, he was mesmerized. He knew how the young man would move, and he thought he knew how Dorian would move, but it was somehow different. He moved with precision and grace always, while the man moved as he had been taught by Cullen - with pragmatism and effectiveness. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes away as he analyzed their movements. The muscles in his back moved nimbly to direct his staff. Narrow hips turned in time to agile defense.

Korvyn looked to Bull and Briony and shook his head with a stifled laugh. "Maker, are we obvious or what?"

Bull gave an eye to Cullen with a grin. "Good to see you're also on our team, Commander," he said quietly.

"Team?" Cullen asked. 

They finished, and Dorian put his staff up onto his shoulders, resting his wrists on either side. His muscular, stretched torso was on display, and his waist tapered into soft leather breeches, worn very low. Sweat held the sunlight on his brown skin and he puffed out a breath of air. “Any other takers?” he asked to the sideline. A few others who were waiting by the side hopped up, eager to try fending off offensive attacks with a quarterstaff. 

“Wow,” Briony remarked. “They don't make ‘em like that in the South, eh?” 

Cullen had no words while watching him. All he knew was that he was cooking up the sudden heat. Dorian’s eyes finally found Cullen’s and he gave a rare, toothy smile.

“The elusive Commander emerges from obscurity!”

“That’s a very poetic way of saying I’ve been buried under paperwork.”

“And not even a ‘hello!’ I’m almost offended,” he appealed to those around Cullen. “Perhaps I should demand a duel.”

Cullen crossed his arms and pinned him with a doubting smile. “I don't know if you could handle me like that.”

“Oh Commander, I could handle you  _ very well _ .” 

Maker damn him, but he couldn’t help but blush with this many people who could hear. Bull chuckled, of course. 

“Or maybe our lovely Knight-Captain may like some practice?” Dorian added, sliding his gaze to Briony.

“I’ve plenty of practice, thank you.” She nodded politely.

An eager pupil tapped Dorian nervously on the shoulder to ask for practice, and just like that, he was back at it once again. 

“He’s uh. Quite forward,” Briony said with a swallow.

Cullen recovered from his blush with a slight scoff. “Dorian is all talk.”

“He’s really enjoying himself,” Bull grinned. 

“He’s always been one for an audience,” Korvyn added, grinning back.

“Ready to go, Commander?” Briony asked, already starting to walk away.

“Ah, of course.” Cullen walked beside her and turned from the ring. 

“Always depends on the audience,” Bull remarked as they walked on.

  
  
  


//

Dorian had been drinking with Sera upstairs for hours. Now that he was clean, clothed, and seated, he was drained with exhaustion. Working out like that usually gave him a pleasant ache and satisfaction of a job well done, but for some reason he was disconcerted. Sera sat with him, joking darkly about multiple things and avoiding what they wanted to talk about. Apparently she was pining after someone, but wouldn’t say who. Dorian had no reason to feel down, except for the overly-dramatic reason of feeling lonely. Of course he had received copious amounts of attention, but what happened when the practice stopped and the rain moved in? People left to go about their business, and Dorian had little to do. He was a novelty. 

When he went downstairs to get another drink, his legs were a little uncooperative, but he made it to the bar. A handsome man with a large frame was sitting there wearing half-Inquisition and half-Templar armor. Dorian remembered that Cullen had similarly kept his Templar gauntlets because they had been custom-made in the Circle. 

“Another of this, if you don’t mind,” Dorian said to Cabot. 

The man looked to Dorian, then shyly looked away. When Cabot placed the drink down and walked to the back, Dorian sat beside him at the bar. 

“So,” Dorian sighed, taking a seat. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Ah, yes,” he said softly. “I came with the other Knight-Captains. You’re. . .?”

“Dorian Pavus, at the Inquisitor’s disposal.” 

“Delrin Barris, also at the Inquisitor’s disposal.”

“Ser Barris,” Dorian smiled. He had that good smell of lyrium on him and while some dark recess in his mind thought there should be something sad about that, all that registered was that it smelled incredible. “It seems the Knight-Captains have escaped interesting circumstances to be here. What is your story, then?” 

“I doubt it would interest you, Ser.” He was shy. Cute. 

“And why’s that? You seem in need of company. That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?”

“Well. . .” 

Delrin Barris began to tell his story and Dorian heard about half of it and was confused by the rest. Maker, had he really had that much to drink? Something about Therinfall Redoubt and red Templars but Dorian became distracted by his eyes. Were they a light brown, or shades of green? Definitely green. Dorian interjected at points to add commentary and Barris began to smile. He was thinking about how he had great cheekbones, when Barris gave a nervous grin and looked away with a small “Thank you.” So he had said it out loud. Whoops. As they sat at the bar, their knees were touching. Barris was becoming much more receptive to Dorian. He was lonely too, Dorian could tell. Well if he wanted friendly conversation, Dorian would give that to him. Or more. 

Despite the pleasant conversation unfurling, Dorian felt a nervous, doubting energy behind all of his own false smiles. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to be there. Something was taking him outside of himself, telling him that this was a passage towards a good time, to relax, but he didn’t feel “good.” It was an oddly familiar feeling of estrangement that was threatening to pull him from a pleasant conversation. So he knocked back a few more drinks to shut it up.  

Just as he and Delrin were almost shoulder to shoulder, a loud voice from behind him almost made him jump. “Hey, Dorian,” Bull put a friendly arm over his shoulder and starting leading him away, up and off of his seat. “I gotta talk to you about something.” Bull nodded to Delrin, who gave a nervous nod back. Dorian started to protest, but Bull was already moving him away from the bar and spoke over him. “You’re not sober enough for that.”

“For what?”

“Come on.” Iron Bull led him to his usual haunt beside the stairs. The Chargers were only a table away. Once they were out of sight from Delrin, Bull continued. “Maybe  _ he _ doesn’t know, but I can tell you’ve had too many under the table.”

“I fail to see your point.”

“Hey, with whatever issues you have going on,” he said, lounging into a chair, “You can always find better distractions, instead of ones that can hurt you later.”

“Like you?”

Bull grunted. “Like reading, or being a sarcastic asshole, or whatever it is that you do when you’re sober.”

“You could, you know, mind your own business?”

“I  _ could _ , probably.”

“What’s this about?”

“I just told you.” Bull leaned forward onto his thighs, staring an eye straight into Dorian’s. “What you do outside of this place is your business. But don’t come in here in view of your companions, get drunk, and expect to do whatever you want. I’m no enabler - most the time.”

“What you’re  _ not _ -” Dorian wanted to come up with something clever, but words floated away from him. “- is the barkeep.” 

“Look, Dorian,” Bull shook his head and leaned back into his chair. It was like he owned the place and was taking pity on Dorian’s existence there. “I’m not going to baby-sit. I know what you’re doing. Losing inhibitions to make yourself feel better  _ now _ isn’t going to make you feel better  _ later _ . You can save everyone a lot of trouble if you admit that you’re too drunk to fuck, take a bath, and go to bed.” Bull patted his shoulder with no need to leave his seat. 

Dorian felt hot shame wash over his face. The damned Ben-Hassrath said just the right thing to embarrass Dorian into leaving. He didn’t say a word, as he marched past the bard and out the door without a glance back. 

  
  


Dorian threw himself onto his bed and willed the world to stop spinning. Even the black behind closed eyes seemed to swirl and he cursed.  He started thinking about what he hadn’t wanted to think about. What it was like to have someone care. 

 

//

When Dorian was thirteen years old, he had known for a while. He knew that there was something a little different in the way he viewed Rilienus from how he probably ought to. He wasn't interested in the budding youth of his female peers and their blooming curves. His eyes were on the sharp smile, the rough hands and messy hair of his companion. At that age, everything was embarrassing, growing pains and long gangly boy limbs. The pair of them were at their usual shady spot in the open garden beside the stairs of a raised walkway. It used to be an ideal hiding spot, but soon their heads would stick up right at floor level if they didn't slouch.

"-and Cassius tried to skive off History lessons to mess around with Silia. What an idiot."

"I think they're going together," Rilienus explained. "But you've skived off History for less."

"I was working on Professor Hertubise's project," he sniffed. "And because I didn't want to; that class is ridiculous. Cassius is the one who's almost failing and they'll probably force me to be his partner for exams as punishment."

Rilienus groaned in annoyance. "They better not. I already started researching our idea."

Dorian grabbed his arm excitedly. "You did? Get far?"

"Not that far. Fabria kicked me out of the study corner to kiss on her boyfriend."

Dorian groaned at the sky in frustration."What is wrong with everyone?"

Rilienus laughed. "Spring fever?"

"As long as you don't start up."

"Don't worry about me. What about you? You know there are six different girls trying to get your attention," Rilienus said it smiling, but his tone held some concern.

Dorian huffed but let his eyes slide back to Rilienus, who was picking at sparse grass like he wasn't bothered. Magic wasn't the only thing that came early to Dorian, and he was already getting taller; becoming less skinny and more lean. The girls in his class noticed too but he hated the way they changed around him; the smart girls pretending to need help from him when he knew they were his academic rivals. Unwanted little touches here and there. "I'm not worried about it," he answered.

"Yeah, you say that now." Dorian shrugged at his reply, but Rilienus seemed interested. "If you had to marry someone, who would it be?"

"I already have to marry someone," Dorian sighed. "My parents haven't decided who yet."

"My parents will let me choose between a few."

"Lucky."

"It's weird, huh? To think about being married. " Rilienus tossed some of the grass he had been picking at Dorian's legs. "I guess all these guys will have some practice though. Maybe we should try kissing."

Dorian felt heat rise up to his face. "Us? Together?"

Rilienus looked at him. "No, I mean, we should try to get girlfriends. What did you think?"

Panic swept through Dorian even faster. "Nothing, just. You said practice. I didn't- I get what you mean now."

"You thought practice together?"

Dorian couldn't even look at him. "Do you want to?"

"Do you even know how?"

"Yes," Dorian lied.

"No you don't."

"I do," Dorian insisted.

The ground was dry and cool, but Rilienus' skin was hot when he touched his shoulder. The breeze was fast, but they moved slowly, and Dorian could hardly believe that Rilienus wasn't pushing him away. He felt his pulse in his throat but Dorian kissed him anyway, a quick press of soft lips and then pulling back.

Rilienus looked at Dorian, but he didn't seem disgusted nor did he seem shy. "Okay. Like this?" 

Dorian almost lost his breath when Rilienus did the same gesture back, taking hold of his shoulder and pressing their lips together again and pulling back. Dorian already started breaking into a sweat. "Yes, that's all. It's easy, right?"

"I thought it was more complicated. You know. . ." Rilienus had his own slight blush.

"Well - It can be." Dorian was bullshitting now, but he was so used to being a know-it-all with Rilienus, that he seemed to accept the fact that Dorian knew all of the answers. "I can show you that later, if you want."

Rilienus stood up. Their lunch break was almost over. "Okay," he said, and though they wouldn't see each other until morning lessons the next day, he was all Dorian could think about.

 

A few weeks before summer was when things changed.

"Dorian!" Rilienus flung his book bag onto the ground and sat next to Dorian who was transcribing notes. "Cossina finally admitted that she liked me."

A pang of anxiety hit at the use of her first name. "Faribus? Isn't' she the one who should be in remedial?"

"Don't be like that; She just doesn't practice enough. But anyway. " He smiled up out of the window and into the sky. "She said she liked me  - at the spot by the stairs, you know? She kissed me - We’re together now, I guess?"

"Great." That was their spot. He took her to their spot.

"What?"

"Nothing; that's great." Dorian forced a smile.

"Thank you, though. Seriously." He sensed Dorian's mood. "This doesn't mean you won't be my main friend though. Okay? I'll try to visit over the summer."

"I'm at the Qarinas estate in the summer." It was a subtle way of saying that he would be with his parents, and that his parents would want him to be around his stuffy, older, altus cousins for "good influence" before he was put in for summer classes. They didn't disprove of Rilienus exactly, but he wasn't advantageous, and therefore, should be paid little mind, according to them.

"Then I'll write to you."

"Okay." A small hope hung on desperately. Rilienus didn't need him for kissing any more, but he could still be the friend he was before. That would be okay.

 

Dorian had fought with his parents that entire summer and had brought the mood with him to the Circle the following academic year. The summer of becoming teenagers had a tremendous effect on all of them. Rilienus still spoke to him, but it wasn't the same when he started to have girlfriends. Dorian couldn't be open and honest with him anymore like when they were boys, and they drifted because of it. He coped by showing everyone how capable he was. He couldn't have the person he wanted, he wouldn't make high-born friends or be polite like his parents wanted, but he could try and get attention where he could. In exams or in detention; either would do. Two years later he would be kicked out of the Circle, and he wouldn't see Rilienus for a great while after that.

 

He heard about Rilienus frequently before even seeing him again. Then he saw him frequently before even talking to him. With the sponsorship of Alexius, Dorian was finally able to get the attention of the Minrathous Circle, passing entrance exams with ease and finally graduating to Enchanter status. He debated politics and was deep into his necromancy study, finally being recognized for his skill and using devious charm as a placeholder for politeness. He heard about Rilienus making his own waves in Minrathous and it would only be a matter of time before they met again. Dorian knew Rilienus when he saw him. The same eyes and the same smile. The man was stunning.

 

It was strange how easily it happened, especially as Dorian had not expected it.   
He was invited to see Rilienus at his cousin’s boutique. They spoke about their graduations, their theses, how Rilienus was soon to be married. He switched to saying how he had observed Dorian many times at the lower house debates during internship; how Dorian’s spirit was as strong as he remembered when they were in school, and, wasn’t it funny? How they used to practice kissing? Dorian had partly hoped he had forgotten, but secretly hoped he remembered.  “I used to push you down on purpose,” he said, “Not just for wrestling, but, I just wanted your attention all of the time.” And Dorian remembered when he had done that - interrupted his studies to play-wrestle. Dorian pretended that it annoyed him but he had loved having any opportunity to touch him.

Undercurrents of charm bubbled up to outright flirting, and it was not the frivolous kind. They parted with little touches here and there, the curled smile on his lips was fuel for Dorian too often in the night. They kept meeting in public, and it was an exercise in skill to speak in coded language and inside jokes, glancing each other up and down until they both seemed to know exactly where it was heading.

It was a bad idea, but that didn’t really matter. The moment was a  _ now _ that would be a memory; detached from any reality anyone else might know. Finally touching him again was a nostalgia he couldn’t resist. These were nothing like their kisses as boys; they were longings and confessions without words. They were sprawled on the couch and it was moving faster than Dorian intended but he could hardly care. Just one time; One time would be okay, wouldn’t it?

“Please tell me you’ll be here all week,” Rilienus said, pulling his lips from Dorian’s to let him speak. “Can I see you again?” Planning. Always planning.

Dorian shifted beneath him, trying to stay composed enough to speak. His heart beat quickly and he wanted him so badly, but any idea of the future soured his thoughts. “Rilienus. . . Aren’t you going to be married soon?”

He took a moment to work downwards to Dorian’s collarbone. “Yes, won’t you be too?”

“They can try,” Dorian sighed, but at the implication, he slackened his grip to slow things down. “But you actually have a wedding to help plan.” Rilienus noticed his mood, and looked up at him. Shame was starting to spread across his face. A moment of silence began to grow until Rilienus spoke.

“The duties we have to uphold. . . they don’t have to define who we are,” he said.

“Are you suggesting an affair?” 

Rilienus flushed, and Dorian saw the truth there. Not hurting anybody with their secrets was one thing, and this was another. If they were ever found out, Dorian knew what he would be called. 

“Dorian, I want to be with you.” And Dorian could almost grimace for how much he had always wanted to hear that. He wanted to pin him down, kiss him hard, tell him  _ Of course, always, please. _ But Dorian knew he wasn’t content to share, and he wasn’t content to be a dirty secret.

“Rilienus. . .”

“There aren’t many options for men like us, Dorian.”

“I know that. Of course I know that.”

“People have done it for ages. We can both do our duties, but stay together; isn’t that possible?”   
Dorian could hear that tone in his voice, the nostalgia that came back to bite. It was how he coated his words to say  _ ‘Be reasonable.’  _ Rilienus knew his mistake as soon as Dorian sat up and saw the regret in the tightness of his mouth.

“The option to be insincere is always available. You want to play the game, Rilienus. By all means; play it safe.”

“And what about you? You mean not to marry? Hiding away to brothels - that’s no way to live-”   
“I’m not living a lie!” He turned away. It was too hard to look at him. “I can’t do what you’re doing. I’m not playing that part. That’s my father trying to do that for me.”

“Don’t you understand what he’s doing Dorian? You  _ can _ be yourself. Just not. . . ”

“Just not in public?” He leaned back into the coach. This was something final. He knew it was already over. “I know. And is it better to be, what, someone on the side? I’m sure this would be fair to your future wife would it?”

“I never took you for the jealous type.” He offered a sad smile.

“I never took you for a coward.“ He regretted the words once they left his mouth. For both of them, they were doing what they could to survive Magisterium politics. “Rilienus, I’m-”

“Don’t be.” Rilienus held up a hand and they had a moment of tense silence. “What would you have me do? Throw away this chance for . . ”

“No.” Dorian stood. “I would never expect you to do something so foolish for yourself. And especially not for me.” That’s something people do for those they love. There was no room for love in any heart of one who desired power. Not in Tevinter. Dorian knew he had no right to ask him to throw it aside. But he wanted to ask Rilienus if he could value something above his perception of success, if there was something more rare between the two of them being stifled by expectations.   
But he didn’t ask. He left. And Cole told him the answer later.   
  
Looking back on that year, he thought that perhaps they both had had it wrong - That success shouldn’t have to compete with romance, and neither of them were ready for any commitment anyway. In the end, Dorian almost couldn’t blame him. He wondered if it was lucky, at least, that Rilienus didn’t mind being with women as well as men, but in a society that forced him to turn his love in one direction, how could they ever know? If Rilienus was lucky at all, it was that he truly did seem to love his wife, once he finally got to know her. He was sure neither of them regretted their decision to depart.

 

It was a few years later, after a massive row with Alexius, that Dorian found himself back in  Minrathous to drink to excess and fall in with Abrexus. After  _ that _ disaster, the “scandal” was too towering to be fun. He was tired of being shamed and feeling ashamed, but there was no room for someone as stubborn as him in society; who refused to marry and make a magically endowed family that would benefit the Imperium. Preferring men was not nearly as scandalous as pretending not to. The betrothal was hanging by a thread, if not on the works of being thrown out entirely, and Dorian was ready to swear off any secrecy about who he was. Of course, the only men who didn’t keep a consistent scandal were men at brothels and Dorian found himself okay with the idea. Distant relatives and former colleagues helped him when they could after his escape from Qarinas, including his friend Maevaris, until he finally came south to see what Alexius was up to. The rest was history. 

Now that he was well situated in the South, especially in Ferelden, all certainties could be tossed out the window. There were few societal rules he was used to. Strangers of multiple classes spoke to each other casually, people rarely moved enough to sabotage one another, magic was a curse, and curiously, love was encouraged. It had always been strange to Dorian, how so many people he knew in Tevinter were so filled with passion and love, but were always supposed to put it aside for duty, for the Imperium, for good standing. It was expected of them to have great emotion, but to have great control over it as a show of strength. It was tiring. But as he travelled with Korvyn, he could see the variation in couples, the letters of confessions and meeting places, same-gender lovers open with their affections. The Inquisitor himself had no qualms about blooming interests. 

But where did that leave Dorian? He knew how to initiate something, but in a place like Skyhold, one-night stands wouldn’t be possible. He would get to know people around, they would expect to see him again, and he didn’t want secrets or responsibilities. He was through with it. What if they expected more from him - A commitment, a promise, an honest man? In the end, it was always too painful to be honest, with himself, with others, and especially about a relationship. Maybe it just wasn’t going to happen. For now, being admired and being desired would be enough. 

Dorian rolled over to his side, feeling an ache at his core. If he were ever to try and love someone, it would have been Rilienus; the only one who knew his temperament and who he was, yet had wanted to be with him regardless. If he did survive this whole thing, would he stay in the South? Try to find work and romance in - what, Orlais? It seemed ludicrous. Korvyn was able to achieve so much with a team who trusted him. If Dorian had something like that, could he not also change Tevinter by increments? Returning to the charred remains of his reputation, nevermind his family, seemed just as dismal and lonely. 

Dorian tossed the blankets aside and sat up. He’d really made a fool of himself, and now he was too sober to let it go. It wasn’t too late. He knew he could still get something to drink, if he wanted, and stop thinking about it. Or better, he could probably still find the Templar at the Tavern. Or Iron Bull. 

He wiped a hand over his face. Bull was right. He was looking for any distraction, even if it hurt. And while the truth was uncomfortable, it was right of him to have said so. It didn’t use to be that way; Dorian used to genuinely have fun with lovers. Things had changed after Rilienus. Dorian threw a robe over himself and opened the door to his room. He put his weight on the balcony and glanced into the dark, empty garden covered in frost. It was terribly cold, yet he understood for a moment what the Commander meant when he said the fresh, cold air was just what he needed to clear his mind.  _ Cullen. _

He couldn’t see the tower, but he would bet the light would be on. Somehow, it comforted Dorian to know that he was there, even if Dorian had no intention of talking to him about any of it. He was probably penning in some signatures or walking around the room with a book in hand. What Varric had said still stuck in his mind; that perhaps Cullen did give him special attention, but it was probably because Dorian was one of the few who tried to get to know him. As much as Dorian might enjoy the idea in a daydream, he knew Cullen was off the table, if not because of preference, then because of hospitality and friendship’s sake. It didn’t really bother him.

A soft voice spoke from the shadows, “Safe and solid;” Dorian jumped backwards, but Cole’s calm voice continued. “Protecting and proud. ‘ _ I’m not going anywhere. _ ’”

“Cole,” Dorian grasped at his chest, as if to calm his heart. “Shouldn’t you be inside?”

Cole appeared, sitting on the balcony with a terribly honest face. “We talk a lot. But he doesn’t feel proud - it’s a  _ crack _ right through the center.”

“You speak with Cullen?”

“On paper. He prefers it that way. It hurts him too much when I’m there. Too many memories he doesn’t want to hear outside of himself.”

Dorian crossed his arms, reflecting on this revelation. “Sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all.”

“He has a lot of hurt and I just want to help.”

“I know, but it’s not always an invitation.”

His ghostly blue eyes looked through Dorian. “Am I invited?” he asked. “Wondering what it means to be steady, when all you know could vanish like smoke. ‘ _ Better not to know the next step; better to improvise. _ ’” He stood, balancing on the balcony edge to walk its length. “Caring hurts. Hurt regrets. But regret . . .has never controlled you.” 

“Thank you, Cole.” It was true. Regret was not often something that weighed him down. He wasn’t sure why it had affected him so badly this particular night. “Er, did you want to come in?” he asked, but of course, the ghost boy was gone.  Moving inside, Dorian let the robe drop and laid back in bed. He tried to empty his mind of those past regrets, of how it had been necessary to bring him here. As soon as his eyes were closed, he could almost still feel what it was like to receive Rilienus’ soft kisses, but consciousness was slipping away from him. Before he fell asleep, he wondered if it wasn't so terrible to imagine those lips as pale and scarred instead.

  
//

  
  


A soft snow had started that morning, and Dorian saw it several times at his window as he turned over, glanced at it, and went back to sleep to stave off the hangover. It was surely a beautiful and quiet snowy day, so he stayed in his room by the fire. It was finally hunger that drew him out, so he bundled up, looked presentable, and made his way to lunch. He was solemn after a night of thinking and drinking, and he wondered if maybe today was the day that things finally quieted down and he could steal some time with his friend. After a few hours of reading, Dorian deliberately walked to Cullen’s office and barged right in. 

“Oh-” 

Both Cullen and Ser Barris turned at his entrance. Dorian and Barris looked at each other for a beat. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”

“Not at all, Dorian, come on in.” The office was warm and had been tidied up. That meant Cullen had been feeling better. He gestured to Barris. “This is-”

“Yes, we’ve met.” Dorian smiled with some effort. Thankfully, he had his sensible faculties with him this time.

“Ser Pavus.”

“Before all else, let me apologize, Ser Barris, for my previous behavior.” Better to pull off the bandage quickly and move on. With his head still in pain, he didn’t have the patience for anything otherwise. “I was a bit too far into the bottle and may have been quite rude.”

“On the contrary.” Barris gave a nervous smile and bowed, moving backwards towards the door. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’ll take my leave, Commander,” he added to Cullen, and made a hasty and embarrassed retreat. 

Cullen crossed his arm and gave him a look. “I thought you said you would be nice.”

“It was nothing, honestly. You’ve nothing to worry about. Things just get rowdy at the tavern, that’s all.”

Cullen leaned against the wall by his window with a stifled laugh. “I don’t care to know.”

“Good. Well. In any case.” Dorian looked to the door and back at Cullen. “Can it be? It seems I finally found you free of Templars.”

“They’ll be assigned elsewhere soon enough - As are you, it seems.”

“Yes, off to snowy landscapes. My  _ favorite _ .”

“You might request not to go.”

“Sure,” Dorian laughed. He noticed that Cullen hadn’t. “Come now, what’s with that look?”

“I’ve requested that Korvyn not bring mages there. Josephine thinks Korvyn shouldn’t go at all. Leliana, of course, thinks everyone can handle it.”

“Handle what, exactly?”

Cullen gestured to the chair, so Dorian got comfortable. The Commander remained standing. “Korvyn told me about what he saw in your dark future. That red lyrium was not only prevalent, but growing out of the walls in raw, shard form.” He placed a hand on a small stack of papers on his desk. “We have reports coming in from Emprise du Leon that this is similar to what’s happening at the sites the Inquisitor needs to contain - that large veins of red lyrium are exposed out of the landscape. Even worse, Samson’s forces will have been making canyons into quarries for growing their lyrium, which is an operation Korvyn wants to shut down personally. Of course, I want that as well - it’s a devastating and necessary move and has to be taken immediately, only. . .  It will be an area more dangerous to any the Inquisitor has been to before, and especially to mages.” He looked to Dorian. “Which is why I’ve advised him as I have, yet he insists on going and bringing you along.” 

Dorian noted the unease and objection weaved through his rather no-frill news of what was to come. Dorian had been briefed on the danger. “As you’ve noted due to Alexius’ wonderful future, I have, unfortunately, been around raw red lyrium before. With great care.”

“Not like this. The reports show exponential growth and I fear what will be waiting for any of you once you get there.” He leaned a little closer over the desk, but he spoke with some softness. “If you put in a request to stay, Korvyn may reconsider. Maker knows, he listens to you more than me.”

Some small part of Dorian still wanted to tease the Commander for worrying about him, but he knew that this apprehension was genuine and it was no favor to shame him for his unabashed concern. He was doing his job - strategically, yes, but also because he seemed to care for all of them. This was a threat that made him go so far as to dissuade Korvyn (which, in his own right, was often obedient to Cullen’s concerns but still pulled rank when he needed to do what he felt was right). 

“If Korvyn thinks I’m that man for the job, then I’m going.”

“I see.” 

He knew Cullen was having a conflicted relationship with authority. As Varric had told him, Cullen had been used to blind obedience as a Templar because he had been raised to trust the system, and now he’d gone rebel. Perhaps he didn’t know how far he should be allowed to question a superior - what was healthy debate rather than insubordination. In this case, his mouth showed displeasure, but his eyes were not resigned.

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not too thrilled to be charging into a frost and red-lyrium covered mountain range. So if things are completely out of hand, we can always turn back and leave lyrium to our immune dwarven allies.”

“Not  _ that _ immune. If you ask Varric about Kirkwall-” Cullen stiffened at some memory and leaned back. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to lecture.”

“There’s nothing wrong with apprehension.” Dorian gave Cullen a small smile, but the Commander turned away. 

“It’s, ah,” His hand went to his neck for comfort. “It’s hard, sometimes. I understand that what I do here is important, but. . . It’s hard to see everyone else leave; to go out to fight. And I have to wait.”

“Hmm.” Dorian thought of the Circles. “Thought you’d be used to it.”

“I’m never used to it,” Cullen said, a bit sharp. Then he released the tension. “I don’t mean to fret. I have faith in you. All of you. I just know what  _ they’re _ capable of. Maker willing, you’ll all come back in one piece.”

Dorian looked to him and realized he hadn’t been the only one overthinking himself into sleeplessness. “That’s enough doom and gloom, don’t you think?” Dorian approached him and pulled the black handkerchief from his book-pouch. “You were very sneaky you know, giving me a gift right before I left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had forgotten it was Satinalia and I left without a chance to get you something in return.”

Cullen paused a moment. “I had forgotten too.” 

“So you never intended-?”

“Maker, I’m sorry.” He smiled nervously and paced to the other side of his desk. “I just thought book-holders would be useful to you. If I were to give you a Satinalia gift, it would have been something much nicer. As it is. . . ”

“You forgot.”

“Yes.” He lowered his head to scold himself, but this was a different type of fretting that Dorian found slightly amusing. “I only came to the realization when Josephine had people putting up decorations a few days before. I didn’t have gifts for anybody. Luckily, everyone else had been a bit busy with Inquisition affairs anyway and we agreed not to worry about it.”

“Well, at least someone  _ did  _ worry about it.” Dorian presented the gift and Cullen took it. 

He unwrapped the handle and inspected it curiously. He found the button release and the blade swept out. “Clever little thing,” he smiled.

“I got it on my first night sneaking out of the Circle and into the city,” Dorian explained with some nostalgia. “Of course I had little need for it, but it was perfect to have in an elitist Circle - something only a ‘mundane’ would use. A symbol of rebellion.”

“But then - it’s yours.”

“If you don’t want it-”

“No, of course I do,” He reddened a little in his rush to explain. “Only, if it’s important to you, I probably shouldn’t have it.”

“You’d get much more use out of it, I assure you.” 

“Thank you, uh, I hadn’t expected anything.” Cullen looked to Dorian and then at the knife. “‘Rebellion,’ hm?” He folded the blade and placed it in layers behind his belt. “Quite appropriate.” 

“That is kind of our thing.” 

“It is, that.” Cullen gave a slight nod in agreement and a slow steady smile. 

Dorian paused for a moment at that smile, then cleared his throat. “In any case, now we’re completely even.”

“What did you get Korvyn?”

_Shit_. He hadn’t thought about Korvyn at all. What would Korvyn even want? “. . .A rune book.”

Cullen nodded. “That’s something he’d like.”

“Well Commander, with all these Templars clearing out at last, could you afford a night out?”

“Seems like you already had one yesterday with Barris.”

“Nonsense. I’ll make time for you,” Dorian insisted. “Even if  _ some people _ can’t do the same.”

“I suppose you weren’t getting enough attention with Rylen around?”

Dorian scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Cullen grinned. “Sorry to be neglectful,” 

“You really don’t need to tease,” Dorian said, his feelings still a bit bruised.  _ Stop being dramatic.  _

“Well. . .” Cullen seemed to seriously think on it. He was always apprehensive about finding a rowdy crowd.

“It won’t be busy at this time. Most people are still in the Main Hall.”

“Alright. I suppose I owe you.”

“Good man!” Dorian took his arm and lead him away. Cullen let himself be pulled.

  
  


//

 

Dorian liked this, the warm ambiance of the tavern. It was early enough not to have a crowd too far into drinks and late enough that it was not packed with dinner patrons. He was offered drinks, but Dorian decided to have food instead. Cullen sat opposite with Varric next to him, Korvyn beside Dorian, and scout Harding stood at the end, intending to leave to grab a drink, yet became distracted with Blackwall and was replaced by Iron Bull who stopped for conversation. They were speaking about the Champion of Kirkwall – well, more like gossiping with Varric's story telling – but he was giving the highlights with enough sensitivity to not mention too much of Cullen. Cullen seemed relieved about it.

Sunset had just moved on, an orange glimmer still left on the clouds outside the window. A biting cold was starting to simmer from the glass pane, but the warmth of fire and bodies kept the comfort. The bard played simple, charming chords, and Dorian, while listening, felt more of the current mood than the story. Varric's changing tones, Korvyn and Bull's quips, and Cullen's inquiries and soft laughs.

He felt more content than he could remember. In a partly dilapidated castle in the Frostbacks bordering Ferelden, no less. And why not? Compared to everything that he now associated with discomfort, didn't this seem appropriate?

Varric drew him back into conversation, Dorian replied swiftly, and the others laughed with unapologetic fondness. To be completely comfortable around others and have them comfortable around you. . . there had to be a name for that.

Cullen stood to bid them goodnight, and Dorian stood automatically to join him. The others seemed to expect nothing less and knew Dorian would return, though Harding took Cullen's seat.

"Ah, I needed that." Cullen said once they were out into the chilled evening air. The Commander's breath was already a white cloud as he spoke. "I'm glad you convinced me to go, Dorian."

"If you had stayed later, there would have been more of us to see the rare sight of the Commander socializing."

"Maker, no." His hand habitually went to his neck. "I mean, smaller groups are easier."

"And Korvyn needed a break as much as you did."

"Ah. Yes. I suppose so." Cullen paused a moment. "Has he ever. . ."

"Hmm?"

"Well. . .  only. . . "

"Are we still  _ gossiping _ , Commander?"

The red on Cullen's face was the answer he needed "Only," Cullen turned and  subtly observed if anyone would overhear on the battlements to his office. "Does he. . . has he flirted with you before?" Dorian stared at him a moment in disbelief and started to laugh. His affection grew at the movement of Cullen's mouth as it resisted an insult. "I shouldn't have mentioned-"

"He's flirted with you?"

"I. Yes. Mostly at Haven." His gloved hand moved to his face.

"Haven? That seems so long ago. A bit awkward, I imagine."

"A bit very awkward."

Dorian continued to chuckle at that, but Cullen managed an embarrassed smile.

"So, he doesn't-"

"Of course he does! A good flirt is all in good fun."

"I've noticed." Cullen smirked, who had always squirmed under Dorian's compliments, but had learned to take them in stride, once he learned that Dorian loved such a reaction. Cullen entered his office and Dorian followed as if it were natural to do so, going to lean by his bookcase.

"It seems he's leaning a bit more Antivan these days, however."

Cullen smiled now, looking relieved. "I had noticed his gazes at our Ambassador. I'm relieved, honestly. He . . . had pursued me until I turned him down. Politely, of course. He is a good man, and I'm glad we remained friends"

"What brought this on?"

"I don't talk to him much outside of meetings any more, considering we're both so busy. I hoped it wasn't because he was uncomfortable with me, or that he thought I was uncomfortable with him. It was awkward at first, but this meeting . . .this was for the best.” There had definitely been a new air of comfort around them. "Strange; you both flirt but you don't. . .?"

“‘Don’t’ what? Have inclinations for a particularly strapping young pyromancer? He’s easy on the eyes, and a bit adorable in his enthusiasm, though that kind of fraternization wouldn't seem wise. I admit, if he truly pursued me, I might not have said no.” What a different world that would have been.“It's hard to say. He reminds me a little too much of my good friend Felix. I'm quite surprised he would be so forward with  _ you  _ as his advisor; though, I suppose, at that time he was still just a heretic, not 'The Inquisitor,' right?" Cullen bagan needlessly tidying his desk, but Dorian was still amused. "I'm imagining the look on your face as he pursued you. Don’t worry, I’m sure eventually you’ll hit it off with a nice lady, instead of being pestered by the men around here all the time.”  

“Well. . . being a man isn’t actually an issue.”

Dorian turned at the statement, to see if he was joking, and Cullen caught his eyebrows raising. " _ Oh _ ?"

"Maker's breath."

"Our illustrious Commander doesn't limit his affections to the fairer sex?"

"I  _ knew  _ you would latch onto-"

"No, no, this – this is an interesting development!" So interesting that he had to steel his face from betraying how it felt like a bucket of cold water over the head. _Sweet Maker, he likes men._ _Go for humor, Pavus._ "So you do have more in common with Trevelyan than I thought. You could have mentioned it sooner."

"It doesn't matter," Cullen said with some impatience, stacking the papers on his desk that had already been organized.

_ Doesn't matter _ . Dorian couldn't help but be amazed at the admission. Was someone's preferences really that unremarkable in the South? A strange envy struck his curiosity. What would it be like to grow up like that, here? And Cullen himself - Perhaps it hadn't been any sort of secret, and Dorian had just been the one who hadn't known. "They would tell you differently in Tevinter." 

Cullen gave Dorian a significant look, unsure whether this was a serious topic or if he jested as usual. "I should thank the Maker each day that luckily, we're not in Tevinter."

"So it's being a mage, primarily?" Dorian was still trying to reconcile that he was in two places at once: the present conversation, and the plane of existence where he was delirious in the revelation of this new kinship he shared with Cullen. Not a precise one, but - What were they talking about? Mages? 

"It's . . . I don't know. The Inquisitor doesn't interest me that way. But, yes. As you well know, I don't have the best history with mages; it would feel. . . imbalanced." He looked to Dorian, and then away. "Er. . ."

"Feels like you want to say something."

"No, its, I mean no offense - about mages."

"I'm not offended. But it's funny that you mentioned Korvyn. He had been convinced, you know. Said you were 'woefully into women.' When really, you just weren't into him. Quite typical of him."

"I'd prefer not to know that you gossip about me."

"You gossip about him now, apparently! It's only fair."

Cullen smiled. "But you're the one egging it along. "

"Oh yes, it's my fault, is it?" Dorian was careful not to change his confident pose, but he couldn't quite hold Cullen's eyes."Only, it's funny. I suppose I'm glad I hadn't known sooner. I would have. . .”  _ made a fool of myself _ .  _ Like now. _

Cullen said nothing for a moment, turned a bit red, and Dorian felt his own light-headedness that he knew had nothing to do with wine."Would you have pursued something?" He grinned stupidly.

"Don't get smug. You would have turned me down as you did Trevelyan."

"Absolutely."

Dorian gave a surprised laugh. "Well, don't spare me your true feelings!"

"We didn't get off to the best start, truly. You're so different from everything I knew about mages." Cullen was smiling so easily that Dorian couldn't remember the Commander looking so young. "But, really," Just as soon as it was there, the smile faltered. "we’re in the middle of a war. After the person I was; the things I've done. . . it wouldn't seem right to be with a mage anyway." It was hard for Dorian to tell whether he meant at Haven, or now. There was a strange undercurrent, almost like an apology. At the look on Dorian's face, Cullen tried to bring back a stiff smile."But, ah, I'll take it as a compliment. I wouldn't have expected you to pursue a surly ex-Templar either."

"How the mighty have fallen." Dorian said, deadpan. "I'm reckless and handsome, not blind. Besides, I wouldn't call you 'surly;' maybe. . . 'rustic.'"

"Maker, maybe you are in your cups if you're attempting to compliment me like that. Don't hurt yourself too much."

As he felt his mouth curl into a smile, Dorian thought, _ I adore this man. _ He paused at the thought, but no, it was true. He wasn't quite sure how or in what matter, but definitely as a solid friend. He had to cover the tracks of this conversation. "It's a good thing I've come to my senses, at any rate.”  _ Leave before you say something foolish. _ “I'll head back before my seat is taken."

"Good night, Dorian."

The air was stark cold when he exited, and experienced a haunting of his own behavior while he had thought Cullen was only interested in women. He remembered all of the times he had flirted aggressively, flaunted in front of him. And all those times, he had wanted Cullen to react, hadn’t he?  _ What were you doing? What  _ are _ you doing? _

  
  


//

The door latched when Dorian left, and Cullen continued to organize his desk with no thought to what he was doing. Dorian’s reaction had been a little strange. Cullen almost wondered if it was because he wasn’t told, like it was something friends should know about each other. But Cullen never made it a secret - people made their own assumptions. It was an unusual new idea to Cullen, that Dorian actively found him attractive; not as an acknowledgement as the other advisors liked to joke about, but as a genuine compliment. The man did always flirt, but Cullen assumed it was his own form of banter like he had with everyone.  _ He would have pursued me. . .  _ An odd thought. 

He thought about how he would have reacted to Dorian actively pursuing him at Haven and a smile drew across his face. Disastrous. He had found Dorian very foreign; forward with his opinions, but subtle with his feelings. Absolutely, he would have refused Dorian's advances outright. But also, he knew that a side of him – a side he liked to pretend didn't exist – might have crumbled in some unlikely moment of weakness. He had been very very close, quite a few times, to let sex offer a fantastic distraction from the pain and doubt he forced himself through. He found that there were never people too far away to offer up the chance to distract themselves as well. He didn't want to land into bed with people for their looks as much as for their comfort and stimulation, but it didn't feel right. Cullen knew he would only be using someone, so he kept to himself.

When it came to Dorian, was it what he wanted, or only what he could procure? He mentioned dalliances here and there, clearly the type used to bedding men for fun rather than sentimentality, but the man was loyal and craved companionship; Cullen saw it in the way he sought out his friends. If he felt no romantic leanings, perhaps it was the best way for Dorian to go about life. Cullen could understand that; he was often accused of being married to his work. He could barely imagine what life in Skyhold would be like without his friendship.

Some of the books on Cullen’s bookshelves leaned sideways, so he pushed them together. His quill was gone.   _. . .He would have pursued me. . . _

The man was attractive; he knew this. So did Dorian, of course. Sarcastic, a stubborn need to stand out, always in for a witty retort, and ridiculously excited about magical education. He deserved a man who could keep up with his witticism- make him laugh. An attractive man who could offer Dorian an extended family who cared for him, and noble enough to keep him pampered as he liked. A fellow mage, maybe, who could work with him to help him be his best, and nurture his love for learning. It was with a strange realization that Cullen imagined how well Dorian would be alongside the Inquisitor. There, now that would be a sight.

Cullen's thoughts lingered here and there about what that relationship would be like as he ascended the ladder to lay down for rest. Dorian would probably try to make Korvyn more presentable, but the man was always covered in burns and ash. What if Korvyn had gone for Dorian, rather than Josephine? It was a funny little idea now that he'd had it, but it was strange, he felt, as he was in bed, how the thought also scratched at something curious deep within his chest.

_. . .He would have pursued me. . . _

Even if Cullen  _ had  _ wanted to, he would never be good enough for someone like him. He could never deserve Dorian. And that itch within him rolled over at the truth of it, and fell into peace. At least, he hoped, that he would get to see whomever came next in Dorian's life, maybe gossip about him. They could stay comfortably close, both aware of where they stood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -A lot of this hurt my soul to write, but I really wanted to get into what Dorian’s going through. Cole probably wouldn’t have brought Rilienus up if he wasn’t some source of hurt for Dorian. Though, I also hope I made it clear where both Rilienus and Dorian are coming from. They were both forced to make hard choices.  
> -A nice little reminder that when you’re out drinking with friends who want to go home with someone, be sure to check and make sure that neither of them are drunk. I don’t care if you’re 21 or 71 - have them get a number instead. Also, I believe there’s nothing wrong with promiscuity if one is careful about it and are sure about what they want. In this case, however, Dorian sees it as a way to self-medicate, but is mostly using it as a form of self-harm.  
> -We don’t really get to see the barracks and training ground at Skyhold like we see at Haven, so I can only assume they do a lot of the training of the army recruits outside of the walls, perhaps on flat foundation.  
> -You ever have that weird moment when someone casually mentions: “Oh yeah, I used to have a crush on you. Anyway,-” and you’re kind of in a weird headspace after that thinking about what could have happened? Yeah. Enjoy that, Cullen.


	10. I Detest Confessions

“It’s nothing too fancy, but it will get the job done!”

“Dagna,” Dorian held up the staff, imbued with a green shimmering rune on one end. “This is superb!” It was for demon-slaying, and that extra shimmer would add an excellent hue and sharpness to casting. Dagna rocked on the balls of her feet, always happy to show off her faculties in the workshop of the undercroft. 

“And any magic you arc will actually be drawn  _ toward _ creatures from the fade, so you can get a little messy if you need to be.”

“Excellent.” He twirled it a bit to feel the weight. Perfectly balanced. “Do you think you’d be able to work with something more. . .compact in the future?”

“Like a wand instead of a staff?”

“Ah, you know your way around foreign magical weapons, do you?”

“I worked at a Circle for quite a while!” she explained. “Are half-staves and wands common in Tevinter?”

“There’s a rising market, though many show disdain for not having the ‘elegance’ of a traditional staff. It’s been catching on as ‘travel size’ but it’s easily concealable at parties, for reasons I’m sure you understand.”

“Hmm. . . You’re thinking of the Winter Palace?”

“Only thinking. They’re not as proper of conduits as staves are.”

“Right - the length makes it a little unstable, so they’re deliberately kept less powerful. It would be possible to keep it powerful, but the wielder would have to be very advanced to-” She paused to see Dorian raising a brow. “I mean. Of course  _ you _ would be able to, but- if it fell into the wrong hands it would be trouble - maybe a safeguard?” For a moment she mumbled to herself and her mind lingered elsewhere before snapping back to the present. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

“You’re an absolute doll, Dagna,”

“No promises you know,” she said, with hands on her hips but with a smile “And hey, be careful at Emprise du Leon, okay? I’ve certainly heard some things.”

 

//

 

The cold never quite left as the party moved north parallel to the mountain range. Dorian was miserable in the frigid weather with the stark air sticking in his throat, but Cole gave quiet poetic asides about the wildlife (particularly rabbits) that were somewhat cheerful. Korvyn and Blackwall joked a bit as and Dorian mostly listened as the trails became slower with their sloshing. Korvyn’s nerves had been very high, as the Winter Palace soiree was looming closer. Dorian didn’t blame him; killing demons was much more straight-forward than stopping an assassination plot while mingling with political powerhouses. Korvyn asked them some questions about being proper at court as they rode, but Blackwall and Cole had no experience, while Dorian assured him that he broke etiquette too often to be asked.

A day later, they were passing through Orlesian territory and caught up with their scouts. They ate a quick meal after speaking with Scout Harding, and Korvyn turned to them with a warning. 

“Okay,” he said, bracing to dispense bad news. “We’re going to try to this as quickly as possible - I mean, I know we tend to move fast anyway but this time we really have to move as fast as possible. I know it will be asking a lot of everyone, but for our safety and of the people around, we need to get in, hit hard, and get out.”

“I agree,” Dorian said. “Let’s get this mess over with.” 

“We’re right behind you, Inquisitor.” Blackwall added.

“Thanks - I know lyrium makes this especially dangerous, so we don’t want to be here any longer than we have to. It’s getting worse and worse, so we can’t risk taking our time.” It occurred to Dorian why he made the choice in the team - they were the quick damage-dealers. The others had their specialties, but area damage sometimes took a while. Dorian was surprised Korvyn hadn’t brought Solas instead if they were fighting large groups or Vivienne for her guards, but his necromancy made sense to utilize every hand they had, including dead ones. If it weren’t for the need of stealth, he imagined Korvyn would always bring more people than he did. “Let’s keep moving and keep pushing through.” 

After they passed the frozen lake and dilapidated town, they saw the first sign of red lyrium’s grasp on the land. As reports had mentioned, its crystal form was exposed to the air, but it pierced up from the ground in towering spires, sickly red melting the white snow around it. As soon as they passed it, Templars came out to meet them, red as blood along the snowscape.

“Maker,” Blackwall exhaled, readying himself. “This is bad.”

“Bit of an understatement,” Dorian added. 

They knew what to expect, but it was always a surprise to see the human form twisted as it was into jagged shards. It was the feral anger of soldiers who did not imagine a life to return to; almost as dead as any body Dorian might raise. Dorian wondered briefly if Cullen used to know any of these people. Red Templars came in droves. They knew, of course, that the Inquisitor was a mage and used Smites freely, striking Korvyn and Dorian painfully to their cores. Blackwall drew them out, Cole snuck up to kill, and Korvyn and Dorian tried to down as many as they could from a distance. They grew tired quickly, but as Korvyn had insisted, they kept moving. Get in, get out.

“Maker, how many are planted here?” Blackwall asked.

Dorian was beginning to swallow down nerves as well. “I’m starting to realize that, as much I approve of taking out as many Templars as possible, that we may have made ourselves a beacon to some red army right at the center of this.”

“The numbers are. . . larger than I expected,” Korvyn confessed. 

Cole merely looked over to the distance, eyes set upon the path they had yet to work through. “The pain comes from there,” he said. The party pushed on, leaving the bodies in the snow like the animals they had become.

  
  


//

 

The politics of it all was beyond frustrating. Even as Korvyn and his party took their horses west, the advisers handled what they could with the orders left behind. Cullen knew he was a man of action rather than patience and tried to temper it, but the suggestions of subterfuge and socialization rather than swift and simple movement was agonizing. His irritation would come in sharp tones, or otherwise spilled out in sarcasm that could rival Dorian’s. Leliana and Josephine were having none of it however, and as veterans of the Game, they insisted on its importance. He had to stubbornly concede that they knew far more about the minds of those they needed to play. It made him feel just slightly uncultured, but he also knew, as the Inquisition’s strength, that these balances and arguments were necessary. Common sense said he ought to be thankful that he was safe in the castle with no need to use the sword at his side, while a sinister thought suggested that that a blade sometimes granted an easier solution. He already had a reputation for being irritable; it was best not to prove it true all of the time.

Cullen came into the war room to check positions as the fast falling autumn sun lit the stained glass. The movement of scouts and sentry needed reaffirmation before joining up with other missions and the fog of obligations in his mind had him walking in a daze. Cassandra was there, a lone figure in the spacious tower, looking over the map with sprawled hands on the table top. They both straightened up when they saw each other. 

“I see you’re feeling more like yourself,” she said stiffly.

“Yes,” he replied, approaching the table with reserve. The stress and pain reached further than the war room, but he had no way to make excuses for who he became when his withdrawals overwhelmed him. He had sought Cassandra out in his pain as he had before, accused her of going back on her word, of being stubborn in refusing to replace him. Their argument ended with Korvyn interrupting and his shame pushed him out the door. She refused to find him a replacement, so he was obligated to continue as a Commander whose dysfunction would weaken them - until he woke the next morning and the pain had begun to subside. His withdrawals ebbed and he was up to his usual standards of work, cursing that he had been driven to that limit of doubt. Of course he had chosen Cassandra because she knew what he could handle, and she had chosen him for the same reason. “Cassandra,”

She held up a hand as if there was nothing to say on the subject. Cullen was grateful for it. She easily left his bitter words behind her and he would strive to do the same with her acceptance. Their uninterrupted camaraderie meant moving on with respect, and focusing on the issue at hand. 

Cassandra added a new piece to the board, right over Caer Oswin. 

“So that’s your lead,” Cullen commented. 

“I have some idea of what I may meet there.”

Cullen waited for her to continue, but she said nothing more. She had a lot on her mind, as her brow indicated, eyes fixed on the marked map.

“You should go with more reinforcements,” Cullen suggested. “If the Lord Seeker turns on you-”

“There are people there who will still listen,” Cassandra said with conviction. “We won’t stand alone.”

Cullen felt his mouth turn, but he also trusted her judgement. She did know the Seekers better than him, but he couldn’t trust how deep the corruption may have moved through the Order. It might be better to at least plan a backup.

Cassandra continued to stare down at the map and a silence began to grow until she asked: “Do you ever think the Maker is testing us?”

“Do you mean the Inquisition, or all of Thedas?”

“I mean in the way the Chantry is threatened by its own army of Templars; the way the Seekers are failing; the way Korvyn was named a Herald of Andraste.”

Cullen replied with a small smile of surprise. “Would my opinion comfort you? I expect you’d get a better response from Leliana.” Cassandra held her arms with a quiet vulnerability and did not reply. Of course the Chant spoke of how the Maker didn’t intervene, but circumstances this dire suggested something almost divine. “I don’t think the Maker is testing us or punishing us. Conflict, wars, politics - they all unfurl as they always do and we can only have the Maker as a guide. We’re just tripping through the dark, looking for a candle.”

Cassandra looked up, pensively. “That is a simpler answer than I expected.” 

“I told you I’m not-” 

“It is honest and straightforward and probably the most likely,” she said with the hint of a smile. Cullen realized that he missed that smile. “All these diplomats talking of  _ history _ and  _ destiny _ . I feel better thinking that there is just my sword and my will.”

“At least those you can rely on.”

“Yes,” She huffed a short laugh. “That  _ is _ true.”

“I’m glad. And I’m sorry we haven’t talked lately, besides. . .well, arguing.” 

“Cullen,” Cassandra crossed her arms. She paused to think for a moment and he let her pick her words. Her eyes moved down to look over the map once more. “It’s easier for us to see pawns - not people - when we move pieces along the map. To think otherwise makes our heart too heavy; A heaviness that we put aside because we must, and a heaviness that will fall on our shoulders when there is peace.” Cullen knew precisely what she was talking about - when the fires of conflict burn down, one sees what they’ve lost in the ashes. “History will remember us - will remember  _ this _ . Do what you want with that heaviness when it comes after everything is done. But we need you  _ now, _ Cullen.”  She spoke softly and sternly like a sister would. “Whether that’s containing your troubles or working through them is up to you. If that means arguing, then come argue with me.”

It was the kind of talk they had on occasion: a blunt expression of their feelings,  Almost businesslike in its approach, but Cullen always preferred and appreciated her intent. “Understood; though arguing with you is no easy task.”

“I don’t expect it to be, but better than stewing in it.” She cocked a smile.

“Thank you,” he nodded. “And you know that goes both ways.”

She paced a bit around the side of the table. He expected her to leave, but she paused. “I suspect. . . The thoughts that trouble you would not be absolved through me. You carry so much guilt with you.”

“I’m trying to move past it.”

“Maybe that’s the problem - better to confront it and accept it.” With that, she moved away from the war table. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Don’t bother planning aid with our mission to Caer Oswin. When it happens, it will be inner circle only.”

Cullen had nothing to add and watched her as she left. She had said so much so easily, while he had become accustomed to Dorian’s run-around sentences. He tried not to be self-defeating, but it it was becoming habit to berate himself internally and it expressed itself in different ways. Even Cassandra had noticed. Those Templar years were a shadow of a wave ready to crash into him at any moment. He had to confront it more often. He had to share his past with Dorian. 

 

//

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Korvyn growled. Templar reinforcements ran quickly into the fray as they moved through Drakon’s Rise, but Korvyn thought fast. A Wall of Fire grew up from behind the charging Templars. He planted a fire glyph in front of them and Dorian matched it- trapped. The mages were safe in the back, while Blackwall and Cole bested them inside their cage of flame. The Wall of Fire died down and the battle area grew - too late for their foes, as their dead comrades attacked from behind. 

Dorian turned to Korvyn with a wicked smile. "You ever think you might be a bit of a sadist?" 

"You're the one who's raising them up!" Korvyn called over. 

They tried to keep some semblance of cheer for as long as possible as they travelled, but the combination of battle and the constant presence of the lyrium around them was taking its toll. They had fought hard and fast like this in the Exalted Plains, but the vapors of humidity seeping from the lyrium had all of them winded, the mages in particular. It provided a strange anxiety to Dorian, heart beating like he had a performance exam in an hour. As they continued, it only grew worse. Korvyn had to pull a scarf up and over his nose to stop the blistering on his exposed neck; he was being reckless in his proximity to the protruding crystal, and the party members pulled him back from getting too close. Dorian was cold in the mountain air, but the constant assault of the red lyrium against his senses made him feel feverish and hot. He thought if he closed his eyes he might fall for the dizziness and he heard Korvyn swallowing at a dry throat that Dorian also felt. 

The Tower of Bone was a relentless stop. They had to settle down for the night, but the mages knew they weren’t going to get much sleep beneath the ominous tower spiked through with lyrium. Korvyn decided to take small sips of lyrium potion so he could heal up and Dorian followed suit; then exhaustion put them to sleep. They kept moving through the fatigue early the next day, and Dorian felt a consistent pain in his side. As they moved closer to the quarry, they soon found cages of people, who Cole quickly released. It left them nervous about finding more cages as they moved forward, as if the villagers were there to be enslaved. The corpses that were left in other cages grew crystal gardens in their ribs and they could only show their open disgust.

“Were they infected?” Korvyn asked.

“No,” Cole replied. “It was grown in them.”

Dorian resisted the need to recoil. “Are. . . the  _ people _ their quarry?” 

“You think the bastards can’t get worse, and they surprise you,” Blackwall added. 

Korvyn gave a long, measured sigh and kept walking. “We’ll find out soon enough.” He took steady sips of lyrium as they moved, and Dorian noticed Korvyn gave off a subtle green glow. 

“Are you healing?” he asked. Korvyn nodded lightly and Dorian thought it was as good a time as any to keep consistent healing practice. As they trudged in the snow, the pair of them nursed blue lyrium like a flask to keep a steady stream of healing magic moving through them, staving off the effects of the red lyrium. It was a decent way to save their Health draughts for the others, and Dorian hadn’t realized how much he had been leaning on his staff until he healed himself and the soreness in his bones subsided.

Korvyn lead the way, and as they seemed to approach a small cliff, he looked over to take a peek, then rapidly backtracked, almost tripping on his own feet. The party froze as he recoiled from the edge. “I ah, found the quarry,” he whispered.

“Is it occupied?” Blackwall asked.

“Oh yes.” 

As they took slow steps closer, they spied a grotesque mechanism looming over the pit, perhaps for digging, but it had become some instrument of torture embellished with red crystal - same as the walls. Dorian downed the rest of the lyrium potion and shook out his hands. It warmed his center, and he was ready for an advantage attack. 

Without words, they moved to ambush, and spread out. Cole vanished, and Blackwall slid down the ladders as easy as rope, catching the Templars by surprise as they turned. Dorian halted their foes with a lightning glyph, but snow wasn’t conductive to electricity, and they brushed off the attack quickly. He circled around to meet them.   
It seemed appropriate to raise those victimized bodies of torture to fight back. A dead woman with an open chest of red lyrium pulled back the arms of a Templar as Blackwall shoved a sword through him. As Dorian tried to raise more, he was hit from the side with a Smite powerful enough to toss him to a wall, disoriented. He had missed the moments of falling to the ground, but Korvyn pulled him up by the back of his robes, and Dorian felt magic bubbling at his center from his earlier potion. While Dorian crouched, he watched Cole jump backwards from another rogue. With snow at his opponent's feet, Dorian used one hand in an instant to melt the snow, splashing it upwards, and freezing it solid again. Large icicles moved up in front of the rogue who had rushed into them after Cole. Dorian turned around to find his staff beside him on the ground.

The Inquisitor raced up a ladder for a vantage point. “Back up!” Korvyn yelled, and used his staff to conjure a massive stone from the fade. He hurled it at the neck of the overhanging machine with a crack of rock and a creak of metal. It bent, then snapped down. Dorian moved into a connected tunnel, as a blur of black and red crashed into the pit, throwing out snow and red lyrium. The groans of the Templars beneath it mixed with the groans of wooden beams that leaned sideways, threatening to capsize. After a moment, the howls of the wind and settling rocks moved around the quarry.

“Is everyone alright?” Korvyn called out. 

“Yes.”

“ _ They _ aren’t,” Cole remarked.

Dorian caught his breath. “A little more warning beforehand would have been preferable, Inquisitor.”

“As long as everyone is okay,”

In the grand gesture of destroying the area, Korvyn hadn’t accounted for the noise it would make. The clinking of metal echoed through the tunnel ahead of Dorian. He put a hand on his belt to feel for another Lyrium potion, the stitch in his side paining again as if he hadn’t taken any in the first place. It was a long day, getting longer.

 

With several more areas cleared out, the party sat on the wooden scaffolding of the last quarry, feet dangling, catching their breath while looking over felled Templars and empty cages of the people they had freed. They were too tired to speak to each other, utterly spent as an army of four that had been fighting all day. 

After a quarter-hour of recovery, Korvyn finally pulled his his body up with great effort. Blackwall sat amiably wiping the blood from his sword and armor. “I reckon we could keep going if we had to,” he said to Korvyn who gave a mighty groan as he stretched his back.

“Blackwall, you’re a madman, and I like it. But it will get dark soon, and we have to drag ourselves back to a camp. We can’t sleep around here.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Dorian remarked, starting to stand as well.

“It’s a long way back,” Blackwall said.

Cole appeared like a faint shadow, handing some documents to Korvyn that were scattered around the makeshift desks. Korvyn flipped through them quickly and whistled half-heartedly. “These are from Samson himself. Cullen will want to see these. Sweet Andraste, this is just. . . “ He made a look of disgust before mumbling: “Maddox. . . who’s Maddox?”

They slowly made their way back to camp as Korvyn read over the letters again and again. They were going to leave the next day when they were told that a demon had taken residence at an abandoned keep and that it was related to the Red Templars; To which Dorian gave an exhausted: “Yay.”    
Korvyn looked to him with sympathy. “Dorian, I know you feel like shit; you can leave if you need to.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because if you go in there, you’re probably going to get the worst of it again. You know you were out for a minute or so at the quarry back there?”

“I don’t recall.”

“I know.”

“And where would that leave you, then? Don’t be ridiculous; It’s only been two days - I can stay a third.” He didn’t want to mention how Korvyn seemed to be having worse side-effects to the lyrium exposure. “Besides, what would you all do without  _ me _ ?”

Korvyn only fixed him with a tired smile. “Alright. Let’s go.”

 

Granted, doing what they needed to do within three days was impressive and unprecedented, though they were some of the three hardest days Dorian could ever remember enduring. And of course, Korvyn knew he would have to come back soon enough. 

“ -Then I can sweep through the Exalted Plains and the Emerald Graves again. Hopefully we can figure out who Maddox is and find him before the Winter’s Ball. Then I may be back by then and some of this will be cleared out. Maker, the weeks are flying by.” 

They patched down for the night, happy to know it would be their last time there for a while, though Dorian tended to stay awake later since he slept in longer. He stayed up with no obligation to keep watch. Cole was always perfect for guard shift, as he didn’t need to sleep and could sense any bad intent approaching, but they also had scouts nearby. 

“Cole.” As his name was called, Cole politely appeared, sitting down opposite Dorian. 

“Yes?”

“How is Korvyn doing?”

Cole looked at the tent where Korvyn slept. “Always running, so nothing bad will keep up.”

Dorian sighed. “Sounds about right.”

His mind idly went to Skyhold and a familiar lit tower. It was stupid of him to think of Cullen, especially around Cole, but telling himself not to only made it worse. Cullen had become part of the association of Skyhold now. Skyhold meant proper sleep, proper food, proper leisure - well, what passed for leisure during wartime. Still, it meant safety of some degree. While Dorian always had confidence in his own skill, it was caution and the unpredictability of their missions that rubbed his anxieties while they were away. Cullen had said he wished he had been able to be out in the field, fighting. Not if he saw this mess. Especially not around so much lyrium. “He’s getting better,” Cole said softly. 

“Cullen is?”

“It always gets worse before it gets better.”

“That’s probably true of everything we’re trying to do right now.” Dorian looked past the fire to Cole’s icy blue eyes. “And what about you, Cole?”

“I like to help,”

“So you’ve said,”

“You do too, Dorian.”

“Well, don’t go telling everyone.”

 

//

 

Once they were on their horses and making their way back beside the Frostbacks, relief washed in, but so did a heady dizziness. Just leaving the area felt like a weight of bricks had been lifted from Dorian’s chest, and too much air came in to fill it up, making him light-headed. He still felt rather terrible, but it was also a feeling of easing bone-weariness after an earned accomplishment. It didn’t snow, but white stubbornly clung to the nooks of the mountain edge, and they made their way up the rocky path into the grey sky of darkening evening. Even the snow on the path to Skyhold felt cooler and bluer than what they had trudged through for days in Emprise du Leon. 

They returned to the castle in the middle of the night with some help of guards, and they all dispersed with few words to each other. Dorian washed as fast as he could and collapsed onto his bed to sleep through the rest of the next day. Days of intense fighting, lyrium exposure, and forced ingenuity left him mentally and physically shredded. He woke periodically and Josephine had been lovely in having food sent his way, but his muscles were sore and his bed was too irresistible to move much. The next day, morning light came through the window at just the right angle to hit the spines of his books, waver over discarded robes, and illuminate the parchments on his table, so he decided to wake up and be lured to reading and writing despite his sore muscles. He didn’t bother with his usual clothes - wearing a comfortable cotton shirt and trousers instead with a heavy scarf around his neck. He had gotten off easy from their trip, at least - Korvyn had returned with blisters from the lyrium exposure despite healing, and he probably had meetings to arrange. After a few days of steady lyrium drinking, Dorian had developed a terrific headache from which to recover now that it wasn’t there to boost healing and resistance. It was almost like a lyrium hangover, with tight squeezing around his temples to match. Luckily he had tea on the way. 

When he heard the door being knocked, he expected to find someone with a tray, so Dorian opened the door without much ceremony.

“Cullen?”

Cullen was there, handsome as ever, with flecks of snow gathering on the black fur of his pauldrons. He gave a surprised smile at being addressed. “Oh, you said my name.”

“What are you up to, dropping by here?”

“I uh, came to check in. Can I come inside?”

“Ah,” Dorian stood at the door barefoot, but didn’t move. His room wasn’t dirty, but it was cluttered, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to let Cullen into that space when he hadn’t the time to present it as he saw fit. 

When Cullen found himself waiting, he gave a small chuckle. “You don’t have to. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

“Sorry- this is about the trip isn’t it? I haven't written up a report yet. I’ll meet with you later.”

“You’re feeling alright?”

“Yes, I only need to rest a moment.” 

Cullen looked him over as if to see if Dorian was lying. “I knew this would happen. The Inquisitor is in bed too.”

“Ah, the truth comes out. You came over here to tell me ‘you told me so.’”

“Maybe.”

“Either that or you’ve come to admit that you’ve missed me.”

The Commander smiled as he leaned against the door frame, repeating, “Maybe.”

Dorian paused at Cullen’s inflection paired with that smile. He had not expected any subtlety from him; especially not with that tone.  _ Careful, now _ .

“Oh? As long as that’s all.” Dorian started to close the door, slowly enough for Cullen to add anything. 

Cullen paused for only a moment. “I could bring the chess board.”

“No, that’s alright, I’d be wretched company.” Dorian was interested in this development of Cullen coming to  _ him _ this time, but he had no energy to spare. He was too tired, even for wit. “Now stop being nice to me and go hit recruits with your sword or sign a hundred papers or whatever it is you do.”

“Tomorrow then?”

Dorian pretended to deliberate. “Hmm. Maybe tonight. It won’t kill me to walk a few steps.” The Commander stood up straight and nodded before leaving. There were a lot of things to think about, but Dorian tried to think of nothing and flopped back into his bed until tea came. 

  
  


//

 

He knew it was going to be bad, but this was monstrous. “ _ It's proof we're on the right path, that any suffering is worthwhile.”  _ It was hard to read, the way his soldiers were forced through such pain. It hurt how obvious and damning his loyalty was - it was how they were raised as young adults - as Templars. Even so, he remembered Samson and how his loyalties changed to what he felt was right, which ultimately led to his banishment. A part of Cullen knew it was unfair, but he had turned his eyes away from it. 

_ “Treat Maddox like you'd treat me.”  _ This was the Samson he knew, out for redemption in a way he could almost comprehend. Cullen had to resist balling up the papers and burning them each time he read them, and instead moved outside to think. This could work. This was useful. They were close. 

“Evening,” Dorian said, announcing himself as he barged onto the battlements from Cullen’s office, with a disgruntled Jim behind him. He came in usual attire as his well-groomed self, covered in thicker robes for the weather. It had been unusual yet satisfying to see him in a different kind of comfort; not the confidence of his usual dress, but in the soft comfort of relaxing. He could often associate Dorian with “ease” but not with “calm.” Dorian coughed loudly, and Jim twisted his mouth before leaving through the door to stand guard shift on the other side of the tower.

“Don’t torment him too much,” Cullen said, fixing Dorian with a look.

“I don’t, he just gets in the way of my tormenting. I have to play hard-to-get; you know how it is.”

Cullen could only shake his head as Dorian wanted him to. “Do you feel better?” 

“Yes,” he said assuredly. “Sleep always makes one feel better.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

On the Skyhold battlements, Dorian and Cullen looked out over the dark land below, lit by few scout fires. Satina hung low and large in the sky, lighting much of the snow and the clouds at the horizon.

“Standing out here even in this cold?” Dorian asked, pulling his scarf closer.

“It’s a nice evening. I’m enjoying it before  _ that _ blows in.” He gestured with the nod of his head to the rolling dark gray clouds in the east.

“Ah.”

“It will hit here, and then probably turn to snow.”

“Wonderful.” Dorian acted like his usual sarcastic self, but his words were laced with a melancholy Cullen heard in late night ramblings. It was strange how Dorian was simultaneously so jovial and so brooding. “So, you need a report on what happened?” 

“Not immediately; I had something else to talk about.”

“Well that’s good, because I haven’t written one yet.”

“You’ve been resting most the day; I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Dorian gave a quick look of distaste. “Just thinking about red lyrium again is enough to make my stomach turn. I like things better when unofficial.”

“Most of what we talk about is unofficial, Dorian.”

“Yes, thank goodness for that.” He seemed to cheer up a bit at not having to recount the mission, so Cullen thought about any light conversation before saying what he wanted to say. 

“Do you know someone named Rilienus?” Cullen asked, hoping a familiar name might throw him into a fun tangent. Instead, he saw a strange tinge of restraint pass over Dorian’s face, and his tone changed. 

“Where did you hear that name?”

“We’ve received a few supportive donations from Tevinter, surprisingly. Your friend Maevaris may be helping more than we thought. Rilienus Agorian sent a donation with well wishes for you.” More and more, Cullen was starting to notice the intricacies of a halted smile. Perhaps it was a bad move to mention him, as Dorian turned away to respond.

“Maker. Of course he would have heard.” Dorian said quietly. He was silent a moment, and Cullen let it persist. There was a tenderness there he wasn’t sure he’d heard before, and now he was somewhat curious as to whether Dorian would share. Of course, Dorian only ever shared enough to enable a laugh. As Cullen thought, Dorian spoke to fill the silence. “Rilienus was, ah,” Dorian started. “I was enamored with him.”

_ Oh. _ "Was?"

“We were childhood friends- Had a fling right after my graduation from the Minrathous Circle. He's married with children now to a very beautiful and prosperous women – of whom I could never feel jealous in good conscious.”

“I see.”

Dorian kept his eyes forward and Cullen knew that further questions meant deflection; meant for Dorian to pretend that nothing was wrong whatsoever. But silence gave his emotions time to settle and expand outside of the confines of his mind, leaving his throat in a confession. “You know it's funny? It's only in my memories of him that I realize I was never really  _ together _ with someone, truly. But for him,” he smiled, “I would have tried.”

Cullen risked a question to let him continue. “Was he kind?”

“Yes. A rare breed in the Imperium's social politics. But he knew when to be kind and when to cut sharp. He's clever, gifted,” Dorian exhaled, giving out a large white puff of air. “and very lovely.” His face remained steely in thought. “It’s no matter now. He was willing to play the part his parents set out for him while I wasn't. I was ‘unrealistic.’”

“Perhaps someone more headstrong would suit you better, anyway. You seem fixed to walk your own path.”

“That is my defining trait, it seems.”

"And you had your own betrothed?"

“Ah, yes, Livia Herathinos. Beautiful, witty, and absolutely cutting with words. We despised each other.” His smile persisted with that tinge of sadness that came with nostalgia “Very relieved that I left, I'm sure.”

"They wouldn't cut the betrothal despite your preferences? Even if arranged marriage is the culture, surely they could have found a young man?"

"You. . . really don't know much about Tevinter, do you? I thought I might have mentioned. . ."

“Ah, it’s about bloodlines, then?”

"It's, ah. . .Maker, where do I even start?" Dorian was quiet a moment, until the minute started to stretch. Footsteps passed behind them as guards walked their beat from each length of the ramparts. Cullen realized that while their voices were lowered, they were still in a public place. 

“You don't need to elaborate. Betrothals down here are not unheard of, since some families live far apart. Do you want to move inside?” Cullen turned toward the door. “I was lucky that my family let me choose my path, even if it was for the Templars.”

Dorian followed Cullen into the office. He had his chair cleared so he could sit, and Dorian took a chair on the other side, though most of him tended to lean on the desk regardless. "And no fellow Templar caught your eye?"

"That's, ah. . . It's complicated that way. Fraternization like that was very frowned upon, since our duty was to act as guardians; to not be distracted with each other."

"Of course, it still happened."

"Of course. A few times."

"Oh?"

Like many people who have moved into their thirties, the rash teen years that tried so hard to stand out, to matter, to say “I am wild! I am alive!” had been raked past the trauma of his twenties and became a blur. The reliable haze that lyrium left over those recollections of the past did not make for their easy retrieval.

There were pivotal moments he remembered, of course, but days and seasons and years of foolishness and guarding and training tended to blend together in his mind. When he was young, spry, new to the Order, another young new Templar flirted with him in secret. She shared banter, laughed a lot, smoothed over her hair, and when he mentioned it was his birthday, he was pulled into a corner and given his first kiss. 

"I knew it,” Dorian interjected delightedly as he mentioned it. “The lady would have to be the one to pounce when it comes to  _ you _ ."

"Really?" He crossed his arms, refusing to show embarrassment.

“You’re more the type to let others lead in that instance, am I right? I expect everyone would assume the opposite - I just know you better."   
Cullen didn't bother to correct him, silently enjoying the roguish smile on his face. Perhaps Dorian teased as usual, but Cullen would let him could come to any conclusions he liked. Better to let some people wonder. 

In that instance, there was nothing chaste about the way she maneuvered, putting her hands over his and moving them lower. He remembered the fast pulses of his teenage years. He remembered groping hands in the dark. He remembered loneliness. That was the main perpetrator. It was usually people who knew they were going to be transferred. They didn’t want commitment or having to pretend a relationship was possible when they were bound to the Chantry. Many of them knew they were pledged for life; there was no _ leaving _ the Order on a whim. There was only the honor of service and complete submission to Andraste’s grace - Traditionally, it meant no marriage, no children.   
Cullen expected he wouldn’t have a chance with anyone seriously. He thought about exceptions, of course. If there were a war, and the Templars were utilized; If there were an exalted march - if he survived, and was successful, he could be granted a position outside of the Circle and possibly start a family. If he did some sort of demonstration of valor, he could be granted periodic leave. There were a lot of ‘ifs’ that seemed too fantastical to put much weight behind, so he knew becoming the best Templar that he could was the honorable and most realistic way to live out his life. Service to the Maker first and the Order second was the prime motivation of everything that made him strive to be better. Who could think about family? Relations were a distraction; prohibited; took away from the glory of worshipping the Maker; put your needs above those who required your protection; made you common when you were meant to be greater. His body was pledged to the Maker’s service. But bodies grew hungry, starved for touch. Most Templars reached for each other.

Cullen gravitated to people who gave him attention - usually women, though he discovered he was a little different in the strange fancy for the later titled Hero of Ferelden. Surana was amiable but he gave most Templars distance. Cullen hadn’t been sure why he had an overzealous want to be his friend, until he had found himself inexplicably blushing at his laugh. There was one visiting Templar who had got on his knees for him, and Cullen had learned to like the feel of stubble against his own, but he was gone as quickly as he arrived. It left Cullen distrustful and ashamed of his own eagerness to be distracted from his duties. The need for intimacy was far outweighed by the need to be a perfect Templar, so he distanced himself and excelled quickly - until everyone he knew was slaughtered. Once he got to Kirkwall, he stayed away from anyone. Those kind of distractions seemed just as foolish and burnt up as the tower itself. 

As this narrative spilled forth, he could feel resentment growing heavy in his chest and paused. Cullen had shared this with an attempt at being casual, carefully vague as Dorian would be, but he started to color at Dorian’s knowing expression. As usual, he could pull a spool of information when given one thread. “How . . .did we get down this path of conversation?” Cullen asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but it’s a very interesting one.”

“I only meant that I might understand - about not being able to really- Well. Perhaps I’ve rambled too much.”

“No, no, I admit, I was quite young when I started dabbling with other boys, but I was trying to stir things up anyway.”   
“Like getting kicked out of Circles.”

“Yes, Carastes and Vyrantium, then the Order of Argent -that was terrible. Strict Andrastian discipline. As if trying to force me to do anything would actually work. I still can’t stand the smell of those spicy candles they used.”

Cullen grinned, wondering if it was half as hard as his own Andrastian discipline.“Foolish of them.”

“Of course I dug my heels in harder,” He waved his hand. “There were nice experiences in between. Some decent people still exist on the fringes of political society  - Like Rilienus. But a lot of it was rather unhealthy. Revenge and pettiness, you know.”

"Young men and women feeling for each other in dark corners for fear of being caught is not exactly a good start to any sort of. . .relationship experience."

Dorian gave a slight laugh. "Don’t I know it."

"It was. . . worse for mages though." A pause. "In Kirkwall I was so busy that there was no time for anything like romance. So busy I became neglectful to problems around me." He could feel himself fidget as words raced across his mind but not through his mouth. His fingers began to tap.

"You seem to have a lot on your mind."

"I do." He didn’t want to bring his own melancholy to Dorian; spending time with him was how it was usually staved off, and he seemed to have had his own thoughts troubling him. It did, however, have need to be aired out, before it chewed a hole through his center. "I've wanted to speak to you about this for a while now, actually."

"About secret rendezvous in the dark? You need only ask."

Cullen felt heat hit his face again. "About being a Templar."

"Oh dear," he sighed and folded his arms. "You're serious, aren’t you? I detest confessions. Go on, then, quickest is easiest."

"Well. . . how I was raised - we were told that there were only two types of mages. There were good mages who lived their life entirely in the Circle, controlled their magic, and used it for helpful things they were conscripted to - like alchemy work and research. All else were considered chaotic and power-thirsty: Blood mages and abominations ready to hurt people, or else weak-minded and unable to control themselves." The amusement had left Dorian’s face as he spoke; distaste slowly settling in his eyes. "It's very obvious that you were raised to see magic as a gift - perhaps even superior. I don't exaggerate when I say it has been viewed as a curse here. Some even offer themselves up for tranquility."

"And what is the purpose of telling me this? You seem to feel worse, not better."

"Because you- " Cullen noticed his shoulders slouched so he straightened up. "I consider you a friend. And it feels. . . disingenuous to act like I'm separated from things from my past, because I'm not."

“I already know you’re different from other Templars.”

“Please just listen. I’m not. I was taken in because I  _ wanted _ to be there. It seemed heroic to guard the good mages and slay the bad. When I was at the Circle in Lake Calenhad, I didn't even recognize anything strange about the way things worked.”

“Indoctrination.”

“Yes.” How mages were not helped as much as monitored; not taught to control magic as much as to only control its violence. There was very little productive about it. "I started to grasp small parts of it later on, and was disturbed enough to leave the Order. But it's only in the last few months that I've seen what mages  _ could _ be. You've played a large part in that. I’m sure you’ve heard how the Circle Tower became overrun.”

Dorian looked at him with his chin resting on his palm. His eyes slid off Cullen’s face, reluctant to admit he had heard things. “. . .yes. There are rumors.”

“I was. . ." His fingers began to tap again.  _ Just say it.  _ "I was tortured by the demons there - The only Templar left alive. I don’t know why and I don’t know for how long, exactly. When I heard about the Annulment, I thought it was necessary - to kill all the mages inside. And the Hero of Ferelden survived it; No, I should say he freed me from it."

" _Venhedis,_ why in the bloody void were you transferred to _Kirkwall_ of all places after experiencing _that_?"

"I thought maybe it was a way to prove that I could endure, and then I thought maybe it was a closer transfer. But being sent to the Gallows only meant one thing: That you were a problem to be whipped into shape." It was a hard truth to face, but he had thought about it through nights of torment. "Problem mages. Problem Templars. I wanted to serve - insisted almost. Maybe I was too damaged to be sent elsewhere, so they thought I'd be perfect for Kirkwall. I would keep mages in line through my own fears and anger. And they were right. Meredith explained to me how magic was unfair, and I believed it. I was exemplary under her command and rose up quickly in Kirkwall. I tried not to think about the Circle that I left behind,” 

Everything that he had let settle so quietly over the years was being drudged back up; hidden thoughts he couldn’t let linger any more. “I had always liked and sympathized with Knight-Commander Greagoir, but in hindsight, how could what happened have ever been acceptable? When abominations started to happen, the doors to the upper levels were sealed.” He could hear it still - the screams of those mages fleeing from their friends; smells of charred flesh and those not skilled enough to fight back huddled in corners - dragged out, clawing; It was all pain and fear. “There were apprentices;  _ children _ in there with me, left to possession. My comrades were supposed to  _ help them _ ; We trained our  _ whole lives _ to help control and stop it when it happened, not leave them all to death and ruin. The others didn't come in to help. Why would he seal the door? We were left to the abominations. And I watched the people I grew up with die in front of me." As Cullen spoke, he couldn’t pull back. Every thought he had kept so carefully contained was spilling out in confession. He paused a moment when he glanced up slightly to see Dorian’s hand tightened into a fist on his desk. “I'm sorry, now I'm unloading this onto you. I didn’t intend-”

"It’s alright,” he said steadily. “Go on."

"The entire thing is just. . . a cycle of fear. I know it’s because I’ve seen the worst of what the Circles may offer, rather than something. . . prestigious as Vivienne would suggest, or academic as Korvyn would suggest. I understand what Loyalists want, and despite everything, I feel the Templars could serve some purpose, as I agreed with them at one time. . . but Kirkwall was enough.” Cullen finally moved his eyes back to Dorian’s, who watched him intently. His hand left the desk, and he indicated to the scar at his mouth. “This scar was given to me from a Knight-Enchanter. Are they rare in the Imperium?” 

Dorian seemed to study it, now that he drew its attention. It was not the clean precision of a blade or the splintering of magic, but a thin, jagged line. Shallow. A magical blade thrust upwards from hitting a gorget. “Magic similar to Madame de Fer's you mean. It's not an assigned title, but it is a technical skill.”

"Only a handful of Circles have them in the South. They work alongside the Templars as Loyalists. It's why they are allowed to learn what they do.” His gloved hand left his chin to rest back down on the desk. He wanted to pace, but felt too physically tired to do so. “Meredith kept a sharp eye on any mage worth their mettle, but Ser Jedah was a rare exception; an evangelical Loyalist. She was a Knight-Enchanter who hunted for apostates."

"She hunted her own kind?"

"To Jedah, they weren't 'her own kind' because they weren't in the Circle. She was sent to Kirkwall because of the unrest - her skill and temperament would be utilized. She was seen as a tool; A weapon. The other mages despised her and the Templars kept a wide berth. Often, when she found apostates, she didn't come back with them. Meredith didn't mind. And once Meredith revealed herself to be corrupted by the red lyrium, the extremism was revealed for what it was. We turned on her. Well, Hawke did, and we stood aside. It wasn't until fighting spilled into the streets for weeks afterwards that Jedah was hunted as well." He paused at the memory. "I did mention: only problems were transferred to Kirkwall. She had turned on us for turning on Meredith, and cut down quite a few Templars. I don't remember who said it - it was distasteful but I remember it - someone saw her body and said 'What a waste,' like she was a rabid dog that had to be put down. She was skilled like no mage I had seen - a rival to Hawke herself. A mage who wanted to use her skill to serve, but was fueled by a self-hatred. This was what the Order had done to her.” Despite his exhaustion, Cullen left his chair to stand, crossing his arms and leaning against the end of his desk. “And look now. Korvyn might be the third mage hero of this age.” He turned away from Dorian to stare at his bookshelf. "I'm starting to wonder how much of it is retribution: To see the Order fall, to feel withdrawals. I was left to the demons in that tower just as mages were left to fend off demons for their Harrowings.” 

“So stories about your Harrowings are true,” 

“You never asked?” Cullen said, turning back to look at Dorian. 

“I suppose I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer; Considering it’s not something I want to imagine you doing.”

“I never had to kill anyone, thank the Maker. But I would have.” He heard the sound of Dorian’s chair pushing back, and he appeared again to lean against the bookshelf. Handsome maroon robes pulled Cullen’s eyes away from the drab spines of leather books and back to his friend’s face. “That's why I'm telling you this. It's not an excuse for what I've done, but it's an explanation. I don't want to be vague, or dance around it, or worse – have you hear it from another person. And it gives you the opportunity to. . . " To what? Walk away? "To decide for yourself whether you still want to talk to me. I would understand if you were uncomfortable around me.”

“Of course it makes me uncomfortable, but that’s not the point, is it?” Dorian asked quickly. As a silent listener, he had ruminated his own thoughts on Cullen’s words.

“The point is that now you don’t have any illusions as to who I am.”

“Oh, you ought to give me more credit than that. I never had any illusions about you.” He spoke steadily, with his usual tone that was almost playful, but his face was even and abstruse. “I expected an ugly exposition. The difference is that I understood you as a person separate from your past, since I never met that  _ past-you _ .” His grey eyes studied Cullen’s face and Cullen moved his eyes away. He was nervous under Dorian’s assessment. “No, this is about something else. You became a close friend to me before spilling all of this - and yes, I’m saying that because you would have no reservation of saying it to me. If you wanted to give me a fair chance of buggering off, you would have told me this  _ much _ earlier. It seems more like you’re begging my forgiveness.”

Cullen closed his eyes to absorb Dorian’s words. Was there truth there, or misunderstanding? It had turned from a confession of wrongdoing to an appeal - he had wanted Dorian to be the one to sew him up with his words, hadn’t he? To tell him that things were okay now; that they would get better. Were even his need to confess another selfish act? The past was static; what could be better about it? “I’m not looking for forgiveness because it can’t be granted for it to disappear.”

“Of course not. That’s the kind of guilt you can save for Andraste.” Cullen felt a strange shame creep up his neck,and Dorian gave a quick sigh. “I’m not going to tell you ‘everything is okay,’ because that would be disingenuous to you and the people you’ve wronged. Well, I’m not going to yell at you either if that’s what you want - though Southern Chantry catharsis seems to  _ thrive _ on self-abasement; that’s too easy.”

“There’s nothing easy about it,”

“Listen, it  _ is _ easier to feel bad,” He said, slightly pointing a jeweled finger. “Because then you can push it aside, correct? It’s much harder to hop onto your feet and try to do something about it - but you’re taking action, aren’t you? Isn’t it better to focus on what you  _ are _ changing, rather than what you can’t?” 

For so long he had worked to avoid thinking about it, until thinking about it burst forward. Maybe he had to feel it, face it, endure it, before he could file it away. “I’m trying. . .But these aren’t the kind of memories that wash away, Dorian. It- It festers.” His eyes continued to shift, from seeking help from Dorian’s eyes, to looking away from his face as he spoke. Even now, the faces of fear could swim to the surface of his mind and squeeze inside him like a fist. That was what he was truly looking for after all, he realized as he waited for Dorian’s words - He didn’t want to be rejected or coddled. He wanted guidance. This was where his trust had turned.

He heard that poignant voice soften as Dorian observed him. “All this talk of retribution. You feel you deserve all of this? With everything you go through, is that a fate you would wish on anyone?"

The familiar mantra that struck him during his withdrawals scratched over his mind.  _ I deserve this. _ "No, probably not."

"Then why are you wishing it on yourself?" They stayed silent for a moment. Cullen was still all nerves, while Dorian leaned against the shelf, only a few feet away. His presence was filling Cullen’s senses. "Look, overcoming the mindset you've been raised around. . .It's difficult. I know it in a different way, and it's fortunate that you were able to stop the wheel, so to speak. But dealing out punishment for yourself is not constructive - for anyone."

"The Inquisition. . ." Cullen paused to strengthened his voice. "Seems like the only way to move forward."

"The Inquisition  _ is _ . "

“So I cannot give less - I  _ will not _ give less than what I gave to the Order.”

“Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I don’t know.” No looking away now. He needed to see where he stood with Dorian. His grey eyes were fixed on him, but they were observant, not judging. Ever so slowly, he was started to understand the intricacies of Dorian’s expressions that he didn’t easily grant. 

"I won't pretend I can ignore it,” Dorian said. “If I think about it too much, I imagine myself in their place and . . . It's difficult to even imagine."

“I think of it sometimes too. If you were. . .”

Dorian put his hand on Cullen’s shoulder, pulling him from a threatening thought. "But that’s not how things are. Cullen," It was the second time Dorian had said his name that day, and Cullen marked the intent and familiarity. “I  _ know _ bad men -too many, probably - and you aren't one. You’ll just have to believe me. Alright?”

He unconsciously put his hand on top of Dorian’s. “Thank you.” It didn’t feel like sympathy, but assurance. He could accept that, at least. 

Dorian slowly removed his warm hand, and Cullen let his own drop. “Maker, I thought I was coming over for a chess game,” he scolded. Cullen gave a laugh that felt like relief and saw it reflected in Dorian’s own smile. “Honestly, are there any more dark secrets hiding in the floorboards?” 

“I’m just keeping you on your toes.” He smiled at his incorrigible friend. Dorian’s eyes returned to something more whip-smart. 

“I’ve been on my toes all week, thank you, surrounded by snow and red lyrium no less.” 

“So you  _ do  _ want to rant about your mission,”

“Maker no,” He returned to Cullen’s desk, leaning a thigh into it again. “I’d rather move back a few steps and get back to the Hero of Ferelden you fancied,”

“I never said that I-”

“And you were in the same Circle! Was he handsome? No- what kind of spells does he favor?” Cullen’s gloved hand went to his forehead but he could not suppress a persistent smile. The stuffy nervousness in the room was released with their banter. Dorian was a breath of fresh air, so Cullen decided to indulge him and breathe deeper.   

 

//

 

He remembered that there were brothels in Kirkwall, but only one in particular had he ever entered, and it was only to interrogate the young workers there. He remembered the red curtains, the plush carpet, the smell of incense and perfume. The madame was looking at him with some approval and leading him by the hand towards the open floor area.

"Actually, it's okay, I don't need to be here," he said, but she pulled him forward anyway. It wasn't what he remembered the inside being like, as he was led to a balcony and a floor of gorgeous men and women walked about or lounged beneath in different chais and plush cushions. They all preened and looked up towards Cullen, and it was then he was expected to do something. But he wasn't sure what – it was a mistake that he was here. As he watched them, they no longer rested, but stood, staring up at him as an audience. They were still, in rows, like soldiers, looking up and waiting for commands, but no sound came from his mouth, a strange anxiety flaring up at their expectant answer of what he needed them to do.

He stood there,without his armor, before the waiting crowd and he held onto the railing as his legs felt about to collapse. Strong arms wrapped around him from behind and held him steady. "You’re alright," said a familiar voice.

"Dorian,” Cullen felt himself sigh in relief. Someone familiar he could hold onto for balance. He was pulled backwards into a chair and a red curtain was drawn in front of him, the scene blocked off, and now he was in the dim candlelight of the foyer.

Those strong hands kneaded into his shoulder, molding him back into shape from the knots of stress and he let himself groan. He thought he might mind a mage touching him like this, but Dorian – he could trust that Dorian was always in control of his magic. Nothing would jump from his hands, and he had needed so badly for the muscles to be loosened. He felt softness on the back of his neck and realised quickly that they were kisses. Caring hands and sweetness was something he hadn't felt in a very long time and hadn't ever expected in the near future. He didn't pull away; he let it happen, moving his own arm up and over his shoulder to reach the back of Dorian’s head. "That feels nice."

"I'm  _ always _ nice," Dorian murmured, and a hand trailed up and along Cullen's shoulder as he stood. He walked around the chair to straddle Cullen's lap, the weight forcing him back, and Cullen’s hands took purchase at Dorian’s sides. Dorian rested his arms on Cullen's shoulders and he was as Cullen remembered him during training all those weeks ago - shirtless in those leather strapped trousers with slightly tousled hair. His eyes were dark and lidded, lips slightly parted as he smirked. Few could deny that Dorian was a handsome man; "attractive" was the neutral, safe word Cullen would normally go for in his head, but here, he could freely think:  _ gorgeous.  _ He was stunning.

Strange panic boiled up about how very  _ unusual _ this situation was, but his hazy brain moved past it towards excitement. Cullen was the one who leaned forward to press their mouths together, as if there were no other natural option in the world. Dorian's mouth opened for him, eager, and he nudged forward on his lap. As his legs spread,Cullen pulled him closer, moving his hands up his back. His skin was scalding, but he needed more. He needed to burn against him. Cullen wanted to feel all of him, his mouth, his body-

"Fuck-"

Cullen woke, panting. He was far too hot, the blankets being tossed from him and sweat dampening his limbs. _Shit_ , he thought, cursing silently this time. That was Dorian. That was. . . Cullen cursed his hand that went down to grasp himself. He was hard; He was hard thinking about Dorian. _He had felt so good._ _Maker, this is bad_. No, that wasn’t Dorian or any semblance of reality, but the dream was still on the surface of his mind. He quickly turned over onto to his side, trying to dispel the image, but he could see Dorian with his eyes closed. Dark lashes were at his fingertips. He couldn't lie to himself, now that he had thought it so openly in the dream. Dorian was beautiful; tempting. Black hair, grey eyes, a wicked smirk. _Stop. Stop thinking about it_. Restless, Cullen moved onto his back. He knew he liked Dorian's personality, but he had never really applied the man's visage to a fantasy. He saw Dorian so often, he could imagine it well. He probably _would_ be the type to sit in his lap, to be passionate like he was with anything he put intent to. 

Cullen swallowed, and let his hand slide back down to the hardness there. If he just got off, he could go back to sleep. Some part of him thought Dorian probably wouldn't mind, though he'd never tell him; Maker’s sake - he had even encouraged it, hadn’t he? His hand moved to get past the ties of fabric and his whole body arched as his hand lazily stroked. This would be quick. Eyes closed, his imagination was breaking past all reason. He didn't know what Dorian did with other men, but his mind tried to supply images. He would tease, probably. Go fast, go slow. He thumbed the pre-cum at his slit and shivered. If those muscular hips rutted against his; if his mouth licked up his jaw. . . He picked up the pace, grasping tightly for friction. If he could do what he wanted, what would he do? He would squeeze the muscles of his back; mouth at his pulse. It would be  _ good _ ; Dorian would know how to  _ handle _ him. His mind's eye was flooded,  _ Dorian, Dorian, Dorian, _ imagining his bite here, his tongue there, his athletic body stretching over him, and savoring his lips.

Cullen gasped loudly as he spilled into his hand. Water was dripping consistently through the corner of the roof, and there was the sound of his own rough breathing and pouring rain as his mind cleared, his heart slowing down. The fantasy dissipated, and it was only him in the cold air.  __

A spasm of panic raced across his mind as he reached over to clean himself. He was even more awake now. What was he doing? He could have imagined any random person. Was his attraction towards Dorian that pronounced? Or was it his rude unconscious mind that picked a handsome, promiscuous man to make the fantasy easier? The former seemed troublesome and the later, despicable. Maybe it was because they had just been talking about sexual situations together and his mind ran with the idea. So.  _ So _ . He was, perhaps, sexually attracted to a good friend. That could be normal, couldn't it?  _ Maker preserve me _ . He could have just left it in his dream for a scapegoat, but he had no excuse now.

And he was going to see Dorian the next day. How was he going to look Dorian in the eye without thinking "I fucked my hand pretending it was you." He wouldn't. He was going to think about it. The Ferelden sensibility embedded in his bones suggested: If you're interested and he jokes about it a lot with you, maybe you should do something about it. His sense of being a person of some standing, a commanding strategist, and having any sort of social comprehension at all, reminded him of what a terrible, terrible idea that was.

Besides. He wasn't interested. Like that. In a relationship. In Dorian. It was just a dream.  _ I'm too old for this _ . He had to think about something else. He had to sleep it off, and let any anxiety roll over into just a faint nighttime memory.

But fate was never kind. A familiar ache was starting to pound at the back of his skull.

  
  


// 

The storm had woken Dorian several times during the night, battering rain against the window, and then becoming an icy sleet when it was time to get to breakfast. He was glad he had bought thicker deep purple fabric the last time he was in Val Royeaux, and wrapped it to fashion over his head and neck. He could have borrowed a standard mage hood, but then he’d have to fling himself from the battlements were he caught alive wearing one. The sleet had became a blizzard an hour later, so Dorian had no plans on loitering for too long outside of the library. The guards and recruits didn’t seem to mind the snow and when he quickly moved towards the Commander’s tower, they casually shovelled walkways.

There was a thudding sound that Dorian could hear behind the door to Cullen's office before he even entered. He looked to snow-speckled Jim on the rampart who gave him a warning shake of the head. Dorian walked in regardless. A throwing knife pierced into the wooden flesh of a dummy, pincushion’d with precise rage.

"Maker's breath, you startled me." Cullen's arm supported him on his desk.

Dorian walked further into the room and let the door close behind him. It was at least warm again, so he pushed back his hood. "Feeling pent-up, are we?"

Cullen was flushed red, perhaps feverish. He kept his gaze down, instead reaching for another knife but switching hands. He was slightly crouched.

"Are you ill?"

"Yes," he murmured, launching another knife into the dummy. 

"And this is your version of relaxing?"

Cullen didn't answer, throwing his last knife harder, directly in the eye before approaching the dummy to retrieve them. His face showed restrained pain as he walked over. "My mind is all over the place; I can't possibly sit still."

“Is that different from normal?”

“It’s minor. . . reality is just a bit. Shifted.”

“‘Shifted?’” He waited for an explanation.

“It really doesn’t- You’ve just recovered, and now I’m the one ill again. I don’t mean to tire you with it.” 

A runner came in through the side door, brushing snow from her bundle as she handed it to Cullen. The room became quiet, but for the wind blowing through the open door. Cullen took the pile of pre-opened letters and dropped them on his desk, adding a paper weight. The runner looked briefly to Dorian who gave her a wink, and she hastily left.

“You were saying?”

“It’s nothing.”   
Dorian crossed his arms. “You spoke more last evening than I’ve ever heard you speak the entire time I’ve known you, and now you’ve decided to brood?” He liked being right on principle, but he enjoyed it more at the way Cullen’s jaw quirked, stubbornly accepting defeat. 

“Some of the symptoms, they. . .  Shadows move. I think someone has entered, when they haven’t. I hear things- faintly. My imagination is wilder than usual.” He spoke somewhat slower and softer, as if his own words pained his head. “It feels like my first month at Kirkwall all over again.” Resuming his stance across the room,  he launched another knife into the dummy with enough force for splinters to fly off. Dorian didn’t often see him so irritated. “It doesn’t matter; I’ve experienced worse so this is relatively mild. I’ll be fine. I’m just-” He paused when Dorian sat against Cullen’s desk to block the dummy from view. “Was there something you needed?”

“Yes, terribly. Your company, for one.” For what it was worth, Cullen did manage a shy smile and looked down. Dorian resisted the urge to lean a little closer. 

“I’m booked all day.” 

“So am I! We could get work done at the library while this storm blows on. Unless you’d prefer to get rest?” Cullen’s hand went to his neck as he looked at the pile of work to be done, then back to Dorian. “Saying it feels like your first month of Kirkwall is not ‘nothing.’ You can try to work, and I can offer conversation. Getting a little done is better than nothing at all.”

“Don’t you have research to do?”

“Yes, but I don’t want to do it. This is a motivating compromise.” As Dorian spoke, he was surprised by his own blatant honesty. He didn’t have to camouflage his intentions, as he knew offering only his company was a deal that would be accepted. A novel concept.

“I’ll find you later, then.”

 

//

 

The work he had to sift through back at his office was bundled up, and Cullen had it sent to the library knowing it would be in safe hands with Dorian. Korvyn was up and about, though he had tired eyes, and Josephine provided lunch in her office before they all moved to the war room. With the progress in Emprise du Leon, they were in somewhat higher spirits, and they had more allies making themselves known. It was a few hours of sharing reports and moving pieces about on the map, but they came to a close with Lieutenant Lavellan arriving that evening. They had finished their protection of Clan Lavellan, and the Lieutenant arrived in lieu of their Keeper as they wrapped up negotiations.    
She smiled at all of them. “As long as your people make their insignia clear, they’ll have no trouble from us. This could have turned out so much worse; Thank you, Inquisitor.”

Korvyn shook her hand and the meeting adjourned. The others left as Cullen took a few more minutes to look things over. When he turned to leave, he saw that the Lieutenant had hung back.  

“Commander, I wonder if we might have a word.” Her smooth voice carried through the empty room, so Cullen moved towards her. 

“Is there something else you need, Lieutenant?”

“I have some time before I must leave, if you care to occupy it.”

She came closer, and his hand automatically went to her side to halt her advance.“Oh.” She entered his space effortlessly, drawing all attention to the sudden inches between them. It was so unexpected that Cullen was half-doubting what was happening - just a moment ago they were congratulating the new Wycome City Council, and now she had a hand on his chestplate, moving it up towards his neck, waiting for a reply.

“What do you think?” 

“Uh,” He had no words, and stared blankly. “Is this really happening?”

She gave a short laugh. “Are you shy?”

Why couldn’t he have just had  _ this _ as his dream? This would have made sense. As reality it confused him all the more. Since when was the Lieutenant interested in him? And why now? There was nothing really wrong with the idea - he did trust her - and something baser told him that he should just take an opportunity when it’s offered. Cullen had had his eyes on her for a while, but there was no spark. 

His hand went to hers, taking it from his shoulder, but holding it in front of them. “You’re very beautiful.”

“But you’re not interested?”

“I am, I mean, that’s not exactly-” He paused to settle his thoughts. 

“Oh,” she said. “You have another?”

“Well, no.”

“Sorry, is this too much? You’re friend said you were interested,”

It all clicked into place. “Dorian,” he groaned, and felt his face flush with heat. “I can’t believe he’s trying to-  Never mind what he thinks he knows about me. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding.”

Her keen eyes watched his expression. “Ah, it’s him isn’t it?”

“No, he’s-” Cullens started, but could say no more about Dorian, whether good or bad. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Dorian. He tried again, softer, “He’s. . .”

She gave a small laugh. Who was this woman, looking straight through him? “You’re sweeter than I expected, but very confused.” Rather than pull away, she leaned a bit into him. “You can pretend I’m him, if you want to try.”

“That’s not-”

“Right here,” She pointed at her lips. Cullen swallowed. Now the offer had changed. “I’m not joking - you can close your eyes.” Her hand came up to cover his eyes and he listened, closing them. Cullen could almost curse himself for how easy it was to see Dorian’s face, the capricious state of his mind drawing  to reality the breath he was sharing with another. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was for it, the image of a strong jaw and a curling smile. He wanted to do it, and he could could almost taste that vision, but he opened his eyes. Lavellan stared at him, curiously amused, seeing what he would do.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly

The golden eyes framed in green vallaslin looked into his. “What for?” Her hand gently came up to his jaw, and she eyed the scar on his mouth. “ _ Dirth'ena enasalin _ . And you’re learning to heal. What an odd pair.” She gave a smile and took a step back. “Has anything become clearer?”

Everything felt twice as convoluted. But he had realized, hadn’t he? There was a yearning there that she had tried to draw out. “Yes,”

“And do you have a strategy now, Commander?” She asked with another handsome laugh. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I really thought we might. . .Well.” As Cullen blushed and scrambled for some sort of answer, she gave a mock shrug and turned for the door. “ _ Dareth shiral. _ ”

When Cullen moved into the main hall, he stopped at the fire to think a moment. Varric looked up at him, noticed his mood, and continued his writing. Good call.

It was bad. He shouldn’t meet up with Dorian if he was going to act this way. It was unprofessional and childish, like the desperate groping of loneliness in the Circle. He had even thought about talking to Lavellan before, yet when the opportunity presented itself he turned it down in favor of one person - a person who he had no intention of pursuing.  _ Do you have a strategy now, Commander?  _ No, he didn’t. This attraction had hit him so fast that he wasn’t sure how genuine it might be. He wasn’t in his right mind, and his focus had to be on the Inquisition, not flights of fancy - no matter who it was. The fastest way to his office was to pass through the rotunda. Dorian would see him. Perhaps it was more childish to ignore him, since they had planned to meet up. And his paperwork was there.

It was fine. He was fine. They all had their own affairs to attend to, and this was not something with which he would let himself be distracted. What was he even doing spending his time dwelling on it? If it was an infatuation, it would pass easily enough. 

 

Cullen entered the round tower to see Dorian sitting on the ledge, looking over the rotunda where Solas read a book. 

“There you are, Commander!”

At the sound of his cheery voice carrying down, any doubts about showing up flew immediately out of his mind. What would depriving himself of his friend accomplish? Although, Dorian had just made him the center of attention for reasons he couldn’t fathom - a few people looked over the ledges and ravens crowed loudly. Solas looked up only a moment, before averting his attention and flipping a page. Cullen moved up the stairs, a little embarrassed. His eyes passing to Dorian, and then to the white blowing past the window. He hadn’t noticed how blustery it was while in the war room. 

“Jim already left some of your things here.” Dorian moved from the ledge and towards the desk. “He’s very loyal; Was almost reluctant to hand me your things.”

Cullen watched his changing expressions and he talked on, throwing jokes around at the expense of poor Jim. It was like observing a painting in the way the documents were messily stacked, candle-light hit the soft leathers of books, and with Dorian standing portrait in his handsome robes, complaining about a book he found. Dorian carelessly flung it to the floor in a gesture of flippancy, and the sound snapped Cullen back to the matter at hand. 

“Does the Inquisitor know you’re flinging his books around?” He asked as he took a seat.

“He’s welcome to try and stop me.” Dorian sat down opposite, and uncorked the ink.

 

//

 

True to their word, they both had a lot to sift through. They sat in companionable silence at the shared desk, with Cullen reading then rereading different missives, reports, and suggestions before penning a signature or drafting responses; and Dorian with his book open at eye-level as it rested in a book holder, writing notes without looking down, his eyes carefully reading each line. The nib of the quill caught on the wood of the table. " _ Kaffas _ ,"

Cullen chuckled across the table at him. "That's the third time you've done that. How do you write straight off the page?"

"I'm transcribing. Some of this wording is very precise and can be deconstructed.” He stretched a moment before leaning his arms back onto the table. “This Tevene is rather archaic- add in mathematics and it becomes a research project. Honestly, I could republish these for all the trouble they give me. At least I’d have the money to afford decent spices, like Panch Phoron."

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“Yes,” Dorian said gravely. “I know. Neither has the cook.” The Commander smiled and looked back down to the scattered notes in front of him. “Are you feeling normal now?”

“Moderately. I’m just tired.”

“Well don’t fall asleep. I suspect the snow will clog up the bridge if you stay too long.”

“I’m sure I won’t.” Cullen paused a moment. “Though now that I think about it, I don’t know if the roof will survive this storm.”

“Why didn’t you get it properly fixed?”

“I wasn’t really thinking about it. Would you be able to stop it up?”

“Yes, yes, later. I was just there this morning,  _ honestly _ ,” 

There was another moment of silence as they fell into their own reading rhythms until Cullen stopped a moment. “I was talking with our Lieutenant Lavellan this evening,”

“Oh? How did that go?” Dorian asked. He heard his own voice raise slightly in curiosity. He could tell Cullen was fixing him with a glare in his peripheral and Dorian hazarded to look up at his steely expression. “Not good?”

“At least do me the courtesy of honesty.”

“Oh, come now, you’re just embarrassed.” He sat up straighter now. “Did she make a move?”

“I turned her down.”

“What! Shame! Try to do a man a favor. . .”

“ _ Don’t _ meddle. It’s unprofessional.”

“Oo, I love it when you use your Commander-voice.”

“Dorian.” When Dorian looked back to Cullen he could see the austere line of his mouth and golden eyes pinning him in place. It occurred to him that he had instead thought he was doing a ‘friend’ a favor, not ‘Commander of the Inquisition’ who would literally give his life for his job. When he said he didn’t want distractions, Dorian could see that he was serious now. Perhaps he had overstepped. 

“Oh, very well,” he conceded, twirling his quill a few times. “I suppose Jim still needs to take his chances with you.”

“Maker, don’t start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -As I described the red lyrium sickness, I realized I was basically writing what really bad altitude sickness feels like (omitting blisters). So if you’ve ever felt that, it’s extra hard to imagine having to battle for your life at the same time. It drove me up the wall how there was little consequence to taking mages around pillars of raw lyrium, but I understand from a game mechanic POV. Dorian also gets his own little withdrawal from downing so many potions, but for mages, I imagine lyrium withdrawal is only like a caffeine withdrawal with a migraine for a few days.  
> -There’s a lot of speculation as to how Cullen got his scar (some of which involve Hawke, which I do love) but it happened after the Kirkwall explosion, so my take on it is that it happened during the fallout, and healed badly while they rebuilt without healing mages around.  
> -Dirth'ena enasalin - The elvish term for a knight enchanter. Lavellan recognizes the magical scar and that while magic has hurt him, he’s moving past that hurt.


	11. Nightmare

The combination of cold and heat was disorienting. Dorian had fallen to his knees, in the deep snow of Emprise du Leon, but scrambled to get up quickly from the slush, the cold air slicing through his lungs. The other Red Templars stood aside as their leader moved to the front. The Inquisitor had been knocked aside in the attack, unconscious and on the floor with the rest of the party on a cliff's edge. As the last distance fighter, Dorian stood alone. He took his stance, ready to hold on for dear life; to protect Korvyn and his friends.

The Red Templar approached Dorian, armor shining too bright from the sun and snow. It was Cullen who smiled cruelly at him. Of course it was. "I'll thank you to hand over the Inquisitor, mage." Dorian’s chest tightened and he felt true fear crawl over his scalp. He stood tall and beautiful in the Templar armor that was enforced with the red lyrium, his once gold eyes dark with a bloody glow. It was painful how natural he looked in that armor. "Stand aside," he insisted, and the authority in his voice was not to be questioned. Dorian almost wanted to. He swallowed the pulse in his throat and stood his ground.

Cullen didn't smile any longer and drew his sword with a sharp pull. "You'll regret wasting my time," he said and raised his sword in a defensive position with his shield. He stood with the ease of someone who had cut down hundreds of mages before him, eager to do it again. Intuition told Dorian that this situation was strange, but he had no time to think. 

Dorian moved quickly, raising a Wall of Fire behind the Knight Captain to separate him from his companions, but Cullen rushed forward at the same time. Dorian brought his staff down just in time to block the blow with a shield, and they were apart again. A blue barrier glowed into place with the flick of Dorian's wrist, and Cullen was smiling again, that familiar scar turned menacing. "That won't be necessary."

Dorian moved back as Cullen lifted his sword again, but the Knight Captain instead struck the earth, releasing a Smite that washed over Dorian like a great wave of water; the other Templars gave appreciative calls. A dread emptiness was all that remained with him, more powerful and profane than any Cullen had attempted to perform. He had no time to contemplate the fear that gripped his insides as every power at his disposal had been ripped from his person like pages from a book. Dorian raised his staff again as Cullen advanced quickly. This was familiar; why did it seem familiar? They were duelling weapon to weapon now. S _ tall for time. Stall until the mana comes back _ , but this was not a smite imbibed with normal lyrium. It was sticky, corrupt, and far more powerful.  _ Both hands, then _ .

Despite the heavy armor, Cullen's agility always took him by surprise, powerful arms giving blow after blow as if he would cut through the staff if he couldn't slice between it. The warrior strength was trying on Dorian's own muscles and he was feeling the burn of exertion just to keep up in defense.

No, he would have to use precision; counter the offense. His staff blade could maybe pierce through somewhere. Circling the Templar, the officers yelled insults at him, but Dorian positioned the staff to blade-up. He was unused to this form, but now he would have reach.

Cullen lowered his shield to attack. The sword met the staff; Dorian risked bringing the sword in with his staff for it to slide along the length and graze off. The weight thrown into the swing made him successful, bringing the staffblade in swiftly for a cut to the underarm. Cullen made a sound of pain at the contact, but would not cry out – injured, Dorian expected him to readjust in the pain; He merely threw his shield down, and tossed sword to his other hand, striking out to hit again – ambidextrous; of course - he knew that. How did he know that? Dorian raised his staff too slowly this time. Blinded with pain by the sudden gash in his shoulder, Dorian fell to one knee, and Cullen kicked him down into the snow. Dorian reached for his staff but Cullen's boot kicked it away. He placed a knee on Dorian's sternum instead, leaning down to give that damned grin again, his face shadowed.

"You're a persistent one." He couldn’t shake the idea that this had happened before. 

Tight hands moved to his throat, gripping his windpipe. "You'll probably fight the red crystals we'll feed you as well." His grin widened as Dorian struggled to breath; his hands fought at Cullen's tight grip, the air quickly deflating from his lungs. "Better to make you tranquil, and throw you back to your father. You'll be in some condition to be who he always wanted."

" _ You- _ " It stung in every way, a needle pinning into every fear. He was going to let the Inquisition down; a failure. They were all going to die.  _ Korvyn _ ,  _ I'm sorry _ .

No, it was anger that made Dorian stubborn; anger that pushed him to fight his father's servants, his captors. Anger and persistence that made him who he was. What miniscule mana regained through Cullen's taunts, Dorian reached for and grabbed as tightly as a chain, pulling the fade to this world with all his might. He gave a mindblast to throw the Red Templar from him, choking as he struggled to his side, the hot blood spilling down his front.

The mana – it had been there all along.

Cullen gripped his sword, ready to stand, but Dorian knew what he was up against now. He had merely to believe that his staff was in his hand for it to be so. Again, he took his stance. He ached, but he was no longer defenseless. The Fade was all around him, taking from his memories and making it into something new.

"Demon," Dorian addressed,"It's been awhile since any of you had the gall to try me."

"Uhg, did you have to pull me into it?" Dorian jumped when he saw Korvyn rise up next to him out of the snow. The Inquisitor blinked rapidly, taking in the desperate situation. "Oh. Need some help?"

"If you would."

"This won't be the last time you have a nightmare, mage," the demon spat, taking its own fighting stance once again.

"Another time, then."

Korvyn's hands grew aflame and sent a blast of fire at the Red Templars. As soon as he and Korvyn began to duel-cast, the demon began to take a defensive position, now outmatched. It became more wretched and less like Cullen, its form as a Red Templar being a weakness that they exploited. It screeched as Korvyn's glyph lit a burst of fire, "After you!" he called to Dorian, as Dorian gave a satisfying crack of lightning that flashed the whole area white. But he wasn't done yet. Perhaps it was immune to fear, but he didn't care; The familiar purple burning flames erupted around the thing, culminating into that deadly black smoke skull. Taking Cullen's form, baiting his insecurities; the damned thing needed to suffer. This wasn't Cullen; This would  _ never _ be Cullen. He sliced the staff-blade upwards and beat it back down as soon as the creature tried to get up. He froze it in place and used lightening for a sharp clean burn and the thing screeched louder; It barely resembled a human anymore, bleeding something green and sickly and something pitiful within Dorian told him he could stop, but it was too good, too satisfying to stop.

"Dorian," Korvyn called behind him. Dorian paused, feeling the shift in the air as another sense floated around. Another demon was not there, but was sensing them out. The heat and instability of a rage demon. Both of them took a moment to stand still. The sense lingered only a moment and it passed. Dorian looked down to see the other creature dissipating into green flecks of ash, blowing away in the snowy wind. The rest of Emprise du Leon began to look wobbly and artificial.

They were both breathing hard, taking in the chemical taste of the Fade.

Korvyn looked over at Dorian in some alarm, but Dorian kept his gaze forward. They both knew he could have killed it much faster.

"Strange," Korvyn started, recovering his voice. "I don't know what kind of demon that was."

"It mentioned it was waiting for a nightmare. A nightmare demon?" Dorian suggested.

Korvyn shook his head. "I haven't heard of one, but I guess it's possible? Considering where we are. Or a variant of fear demon. "

"Right," Dorian exhaled loudly. "Sorry about all this." He tried to slip into his usual joviality. "I didn't mean to call out, but. . . How  _ are _ you here? You're not somniari?"

"No, well, " Korvyn waved his hand around, "I've been studying rift magic as a specialty.  _ Really _ interesting but the anchor has a way of intensifying a lot of my experimenting - like the rock I used at the - the thing in Emprise du Leon, remember? And  _ this _ , I guess. I've been practicing lucid dreams a lot lately, and it seems I'm becoming susceptible to opening doors in the Fade here and there." He looked around at the familiar bastardized setting and paused. "Er, this is done unconsciously. I won't be visiting much in the future, don't worry. I just need to get a better handle on this."

"And no interest in the animation of the dead? Pity."

"They're  _ creepy _ , Dorian."

"You don't think a necromancing Inquisitor would be good for our image? With your propensity for fire, you could have a burning undead army." At Korvyn's widening and contemplative eyes he added, "I'm joking; please have fun studying rift magic."

"Right! Well. I think I'll walk. . .  _ that  _ way for a while until something nicer comes along in my dreams and I forget I'm asleep. I'd rather not think too much on how my Commander might have turned out."

Dorian let out a relieved breath. "You're telling me."

"Only, Dorian, if you hadn't called to me through the Fade. . ."

"I would have made it," he said with certainty, though he didn't feel it. "Thank you. I'm grateful you responded, but you needn't worry. It just took me a while to. . ."

"Yeah. A little intense." He shook his head in disbelief. "Never a fan of demons."

"Strange how our fears can manifest. I'll trust that you'll be discrete in-?"

"Dorian, I'm not a gossiper like  _ some people _ I know," He smirked. "But I will say you aren't the first mage at Skyhold to call out to me during a nightmare. It seems a certain demon is being very troublesome for a few of us. I mean, I'm glad, really, that people think of  _ me _ to call to. But I just. . .I need to let my mind relax a little. "

"Understandable, of course. You can’t even sleep without the Fade demanding your attention, for Maker’s sake." Dorian grasped his shoulder. "Look at you, going around cleaning up others' messes."

"Eh, someone has to do it."

"You know few will thank you for it."

"Who needs the thanks? I need peace, not parades." He sighed. "When this whole Corypheus business is done, you know what I'm going to do? Have a long, demon-free sleep."

"Well, I'll let you continue on, then. I'll try to wake up and get back to the real Cullen."

"You’re with him this late?" Korvyn gave a raised eyebrow.

Dorian was about to start a tired objection at that slip of the tongue, but here in the Fade, Korvyn had just seen a terrible nightmare of his, and helped with little complaint and with no mention of how or why this happened to be what his mind feared. Korvyn  _ knew _ in some manner, even if he was too polite to truly say so. "Late studying, you know."

Korvyn gave a small smile. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

Dorian nodded and watched Korvyn begin to walk away, the Fade rippling around him, trees and forest apparating before his path that resembled the Free Marches as he wandered on. It was impressive magic for his age, but he was their leader for a reason. Dorian closed his eyes. He was sick of the Fade and wanted to wake up. It wouldn't feel pleasant, but he could do it. Hopefully no sleep paralysis this time.

 

He felt slammed into the real world, as if tossed back into a body via hurricane, but his physical body was still, his eyelids too heavy to move. His thoughts oriented back into awareness. He was here, all physical, all smells, hard surfaces, and cold toes. Slowly, he tried to tap his fingers and return his body to consciousness. Dorian pried his eyes open with some effort to fully cement his memory. His head was down. Ah, he had fallen asleep at a table in the library. It was still dark, and dim candlelight was all that lit the work in front of him. Dorian looked around to see Helisma busily at work on something, the only one still around or awake in the library at whatever late hour it was, and probably only doing so to be sure that Dorian's lit candle wouldn't burn the place down. Cullen was across from him still, somehow asleep in his armor, head resting on his arms in front of him. The demon had cast his face well, but it had been so cruel and unforgiving. That Cullen had frightening potential. Cullen had said that he was ashamed of the person he had been as a Templar, one capable of brutality by denial or by doing his perception of the "right" thing. He  _ had _ slain mages. Mages and Templars alike. He wasn't sure if he could believe Cullen capable of that; though Cullen had told Dorian himself, hadn’t he? In some measure, Dorian didn’t want to know Cullen’s past, but he could compare him now to someone changing. 

This was the part where he was supposed to analyze what he saw, in order to track what weakness the demon sought out. Emprise Du Leon - vulnerability. Threats of tranquility - being stripped of identity. Mentioning his father - Well. That was betrayal, wasn’t it? A demon using the face of someone close was a typical tactic to elicit a reaction. Demon visits were no small concern in his Circles, but for those who pulled so much from the Fade so frequently, it was not uncommon. That one, however, had almost made him forget himself. It was one more mystery for Korvyn, of course, though if Solas was helping him with Fade magic, his quick and intrepid mind might find a vein of investigation. Dorian would have to keep track of these stressors on his mind.

Dorian looked to his friend, dozing away. This was  _ his  _ Cullen, not some bastardized Red Templar.  _ He _ didn’t have to worry half so much about demons when he was asleep. No, that wasn’t right, he had his own nightmares, didn’t he? His symptoms seemed to have ebbed though exhaustion lined his face. There was that ever-present stubble on his jaw, lips slightly open, and that scar Dorian wouldn’t mind putting his mouth on.

He looked down to the thick parchment under his hands and thought to distract himself with writing a letter. He hadn’t sent anything to Mae in a while, but the only non-confidential situations he could share happened at Skyhold. If he gave any mention of Cullen, she would know, somehow, that the very mention of him made him significant and Dorian didn’t want to deal with that kind of scrutiny, no matter how playful. He prefered to hear what she was up to. Though another weight hooked onto his heart - Rilienus knew Dorian was in the Inquisition and offered support. This move would not be favorable in Tevinter, but gave an air of diplomatic good will, and casual enough to be seen as a extending a reach for pious influence. But Rilienus had no interest in the South. It was aimed at Dorian, and even if it was some gesture of wishing him well, it still annoyed him. Dorian couldn’t accept an olive branch when he was still all fire inside. The thought of lifting his quill to write “Dear Rilienus” seemed so out of the realm of possibility that Dorian abandoned it immediately. 

"Cullen," Dorian placed a hand on his forearm to shake it slightly. A low groan escaped from him. "We dozed off. You should go back to your quarters," he said quietly.

Cullen inhaled loudly as he lifted his head, one side red and imprinted with lines from his gauntlets. "Did we? Maker, what time is it?" His voice was low and lovely.

"I haven't a clue," He glanced at a nearby window. "Still storming though. Want me to walk with you? Clear some snow?"

Cullen’s hand buried into his hair as he came to recollection. "My room will be a state.”

Dorian paused, “. . . We forgot to patch it.” A vision came to mind of the gaping hole, probably spilling in with snow. 

“The bottom floor will be fine. I’ll sleep in my chair." Cullen rose and looked past Dorian’s shoulder, weary. 

Dorian decided then, with a light tone; "Take my quarters." Cullen blinked at him strangely so he explained. "I've still research to do here. Go on. I'm not tired." Which was an understatement after that dream. Rather, he was exhausted, but there was no going back to the Fade for a while now. Dorian slid the key across the table and immediately busied himself with papers. "I'll come back to rouse you before you need to do drills; Maker forbid you miss running in the snow."

Cullen looked about to resist, but conceded with a headshake. He gathered himself from the table. "Well. . .Thank you. If you’re sure." 

"Still plenty to do here. Go on, then." Dorian gestured with his head.

With a soft, deep, "Goodnight," he clinked in his armor and moved his hand on the wall for guidance in his lethargy.

Dorian moved his eyes to the academic page but continued to stare at it as his thoughts projected outward. He had read the top paragraph several times in a daze. The offer was innocent but the image of Cullen on his bed made his mind a little fuzzy and Dorian gave an exasperated sigh, pulling a book closer.  _ You're an idiot, Pavus.  _ He could just imagine him rolling around in his sheets with that furry monstrosity on - and a sudden jolt went straight through him.  _ If anyone saw Cullen leave his room _ \- he stood up quickly. No, what was he going to do? Kick him out? He would just have to be very prompt about getting him out early. So, no falling asleep at the library. Dorian left his seat and paced to wake up a little. 

Hours later, a very faint bell chimed, only heard when the castle was still and there were few awake to hear it. It chimed five times, and some jumble of memory and conversation told him that Cullen was moving around the castle at six bells. It was an ungodly hour that Dorian rarely saw, except in late academic pursuits. It was time to turn in.

He blew out the candle, held flame aloft in his own hand, and took his time walking to his room, watching as the castle servants quietly and admirably switched out candles and cleared areas. Dorian hoped the quartermaster payed them well. The outdoor walkway to his room was thoroughly packed with snow, though the roof had caught most of it. He pushed in the unlocked door and moved stealthily to close it. Cullen was face down in the bed as if he had fallen there and hadn’t moved. At least he had managed to kick off his boots and armor that were in a heap on the floor. 

Dorian approached, and wondered why it was that he was one of the few who got to see him this way; that he happened to be the one person around him often enough to see how hard he worked; how tired it made him. Maybe he would feel judged if anyone else caught him sleeping so often. His hand went straight to Cullen’s forehead just as it had before. The temperature was fine. He was peaceful. His fingers smoothed back into the slight curls that he had not yet been able to tame. It was stupidly impulsive, but he thought whoever got to wake up and see him like this next to them would be lucky.

Cullen's eyes opened, to Dorian's horror. His hand froze. Cullen blinked slowly, eyes locked onto his. "Dorian," his voice was deep, dragging all the way up Dorian's spine. "Keep doing that." So he did. His fingers raked through loosening curls and Cullen's eyes closed.

Dorian tried to reach for a quip, somewhere - anything to distract him from a handsome man leaning into a hand that he had to try very hard not to pull. But nothing came to his mind, other than  _ Surely, he knows.  _ How could this be seen as anything other than strangely intimate? Was he still asleep? Was there a Southern blurring of lines that happened; a cultural misunderstanding? He could only blurt the obvious. "You  _ must _ be knackered to let me indulge with your hair like this."

It was interesting to watch Cullen's face contort from slack-jawed bliss to open-eyed embarrassment. "What am I-" He sat up suddenly, and Dorian pulled his hand away quickly. "What time is it?" 

"Not yet dawn." Cullen was sitting next to him now on the bed, armor off, face flushed pink, and hair disheveled. Dorian could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. “The fifth bell chimed not ten minutes ago.”

“Oh, ah,” He moved his eyes away and moved a hand to smooth down his hair. He looked around, trying to orient himself. “Right.”

"Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, sorry, I thought I was dreaming.”

“I mean,” Dorian tried to keep his face passive, “your illness.”

“Of course, yes. Just fine.” Cullen stood suddenly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Please don’t feel obligated to look after me.”

“I don’t,” Dorian said, “But you were in a state; can't have you tumbling off the ramparts, nevermind freezing under a demolished roof.” Cullen seemed to remember the situation of the snowstorm and glanced at the small window.  It was easy to forget how broad-shouldered he was even without the giant coat, and he made the room somewhat smaller. “You need to let people offer you help.”

Cullen remained silent and Dorian sighed into airs of drama. “ _ Thank you Dorian; You’re so thoughtful Dorian; The best friend a man could have, Dorian  -  _ Any will suffice,”

Cullen’s face slipped into a more familiar smile as he shoved on his boots. “Are you calling me an ingrate?”

“ _ Your _ words, not mine,” Dorian stretched his arms and leaned backwards on the bed. Dorian glanced Cullen over and noticed Cullen looking him over as well. There was a strange moment again that Dorian would normally call intuitive, as if either of them wanted to say more or do more, but were stuck on niceties. It wasn’t awkward, but it felt like entire conversations could have lifted off if not for heavy silences of unspoken dialogue.  Dorian tried to force himself to switch perspectives for the sake of common sense. 

"Well, in any case, now it's my turn to sleep," 

“Right; of course,” Cullen moved towards his armor, and was quick in putting it on with soldier’s proficiency. 

As he finished, Dorian was taking off his boots and starting to unbuckle. “I would say I could patch your roof later, but you’ll probably need to put in a decent request now for a proper job of it. Leliana and Josephine will be amazed that they finally get to send legitimate workers to your office.” When he looked up, Cullen was still watching him. He was almost taken aback by that amber stare and said the one thing he knew would make him look away. "Enjoying the show?"

"No, I, Sorry." His eyes turned away; hand back up to smooth his hair down. "My mind’s not quite awake. I wondered how that contraption came off." He probably meant a joking deride, but his expression froze in the unmistakeable catch of his own unfortunate phrasing. With Cullen here in his room, the proximity made every comment a little more charged. 

"Thought about it often, have you? Don’t worry, you’re in great company." This was where Dorian expected Cullen to brush off his comments but Cullen kept his gaze averted.    
“I need to-”

“Yes, you need to go, before anyone sees you here this early.”

“No one would think that I would-”

“But they’d think  _ I would _ , Commander.”

Cullen seemed to start and stop a whole other sentence before saying quietly, “Until later.” The door shifted to let in just a few flecks of snow before the Commander was gone. 

Dorian paused a moment to take in how strange this interaction seemed to be, except perhaps it wasn’t odd at all when taking in the account of a groggy person still accumulating to reality. Dorian wondered if he was laying things on a bit thick and it bothered him. He never meant to make the Commander uncomfortable, but maybe that’s what this was leading to. 

“ _ I thought I was dreaming _ ,” That’s what he had said. Dorian liked the little selfish thought that he got hear his voice like that. He had been strangely relieved when Cullen casually mentioned that he had been with a few people at his Circle - that he  _ was _ prone to more casual relationships. At least Dorian wouldn’t sound like too much of a rake - he knew he sometimes played up that role for the pleasure of reactions it received, but their friendship meant that Dorian wanted to reveal some truths of his character that wasn’t reliant on filling in suspicious blanks. Not that it amounted to anything, but in the damning and hopeful part of his mind, it crossed off some invisible tally about  _ possibilities _ . Perhaps it was more appreciated if he were genuine rather than flirty, though he wasn’t quite sure where the line ended or began. 

He stripped down and lay back into the pillow that still smelled like Cullen. At least he felt more grounded to reality; no demon would be taking advantage of him with this type of exhausted sleep. With one deep inhale, he flipped the pillow over and went to sleep.

 

//

When Cullen ran, he ran hard. The recruits followed at an even pace, but the wet pathways from the melted snow (courtesy of the mage recruits) slowed some of them down. He figured, maybe, if he ran hard enough, let his muscles burn enough, tunnelled into his work long enough, he could momentarily forget how absolutely embarrassing he was. When he almost slipped rounding a corner, Krem gripped him by the elbow and they steadied. 

“Almost ate it there, Commander,” he said with a small laugh. Cullen nodded thanks and decided to slow down. He had to wash up and get fitted for a formal uniform, and as the shell of him moved around his duties, his mind remained mortified as his lack of composure around Dorian. He had thought it was just another dream.  _ He had asked him to stroke his hair for Maker’s sake  _ and Dorian had been a good sport over his grogginess, but his attempt to be lighthearted made Cullen freeze up. Of course it would mean nothing to Dorian, while Cullen stewed with the craving for small touches of affection. It was painful and pathetic and definitely not befitting a man of his status. 

It had to be pushed to the margins of his mind and if he never spoke of it again, maybe they’d forget it ever happened, or at least pretend like it never happened. Cullen sighed as he finally sat back in his chair for the evening. He was almost envious of the way Dorian seemed unbridled. He had done a lot - seen a lot. People could say the same of Cullen, but it was a different type of seeing and doing. Time had moved quickly away from his youth, trauma leaving swaths of memory completely void. When he had free time to read those chevalier novels of his teen years he had known it was romanticized, but it was always the interesting heroes who died young and with purpose. It seemed natural that that would be his path and he didn’t worry about a future; for younger people it was so impossible to imagine getting older. 

But things were changing so quickly now. There was not the monotonous duty of guarding, patrolling, searching, protecting that molded one day into the next. New operations happened every day, and when things got to their worst, he had been able to listen to the playful voice of Dorian guide him through the dark maze of sickness. When would he have the chance to be the one to give back, instead of taking from the people around him? He looked down at his hand for a moment, curling and uncurling a weary fist. It shook slightly, but still functional. He wanted to be dependable to his army; a good Commander that would bring them back to their families, but it was sometimes difficult to focus on that goal when he was still learning how to be a person again. It was easier to think of himself as a weapon to be wielded by the Inquisition, just as he had been a weapon for Meredith, but he knew that wasn’t true anymore. 

When everything was over with the Inquisition, Maker willing, he knew what would happen. They would slowly disperse to places where they were needed throughout Thedas. His fellow advisors would move to the cities, their inner circle would move where there was influence and affluence. He wasn’t sure what Korvyn would get up to, whether he would move to politics or not, but they would all move on with their lives. Dorian would leave, of course, and no man could stop him. They were friendly by proximity, and when other fates started calling it was more than likely that they would go their separate ways. There was no need to get attached. And no need to ponder on futures that might never happen. If he focused, then there would actually  _ be a future _ to look forward to. 

To his utmost relief, Dorian didn’t come by to visit that evening and he felt better when he made his mind useful. He couldn’t be the one to make things go awry for anyone in the Inquisition, and when he kept his mind on the goal, he thought of how crucial it was for him to keep as many people alive as possible. They were who he was devoted to.

 

//

 

After sleeping through most of the day, Dorian was able to shake off most of what he considered an odd encounter. He knew he was overanalyzing something innocent and simple and it would be best to drop it. A few more hours of sleep let him gain the energy to gather his papers and organize his work space again, sending Cullen’s work from the library along with a runner. He decided to stop by Josephine’s office, as he was supposed to be fitted for some protocol outfit for Halamshiral soon. That was only a bit disheartening, but he knew Josephine had decent taste as long as they didn’t parallel Orlesian fashions. He knew his own measurements, but of course no one would take that at face value and Josephine insisted. 

The fire was already roaring and tea had been placed aside. Her office was always so cozy and he enjoyed the atmosphere, though Josephine got a small dimple of worry when she saw him come in. Of course, she probably expected that he would ask something from her, which he then realized was quite unworthy of him to have instilled in her. 

“Dorian, what can I do for you?” After checking in about the fitting she cheered up considerably and he was able to learn that they’d be wearing a vibrant red. Not  _ exactly  _ his color, but he’d make it work. 

“So I’m confirmed for the ‘party,’ then? Or will it be a confrontation?”

“In Orlais they can often be the same thing,” Josephine smiled.

“Always count on the bored elite to raise the stakes of things.”

“With luck, everything can be handled while no one is the wiser. Unfortunately, it’s more important to keep their interests than bore them.” She lifted a cup and it was difficult to tell whether she was sighing or cooling her tea. “I’m sure we’ll be. . . fine.”

“We’ll succeed magnificently,” He nodded his head to her and she gave a small smile. “And the others?”

Again came the slight concern shown in her posture. “The Inquisitor has decided on you and Madame Vivienne with respect to your backgrounds, though it may be a little tense with three mages being present.” She placed her teacup down with a slight clink. “And of course Cassandra would be the ideal third choice for knowing how to handle the courts, though Varric also knows how to charm a crowd. Perhaps we’ll be a bit eccentric regardless.”

“We are  _ The Inquisition _ , after all. A name that drips religious pageantry that they should appreciate.”

“I think it brings more formality than grandeur.” Josephine leaned back onto her couch. True to being their ambassador, she really had a charming way of taking any situation in stride. She looked into her cup a moment before adding, “If that’s all. . . would you mind checking on the Inquisitor?” Dorian raised one brow, to which she replied; “Only, he’s seemed a bit perturbed lately. Perhaps it is just the nerves of the upcoming visit to the Winter Palace, though it seems unlike him to fear social politics over fighting demons. He was raised noble, after all.” 

“Though half of that time was in a tower, remember. You haven’t asked him anything yourself?”

“Well, the subject of slowing his pace is a bit, mm, delicate.” 

“A decent way of putting it.”

“Forgive me, but you  _ do _ have an excellent way of talking around a subject which he is prone to fall into. Another reason to worry about the Winter Palace. . . ” Dorian gave a slight laugh, but she continued. “But I feel he would open up to you, if the subject is not made out to be too serious.”

“Well, there’s no guarantee of that. But of course, I might as well see what he’s up to. He has been Fade-wandering.” Josephine gave him a curious look but he shrugged and stood. “I’ll write you later - And get measured up and down, apparently. Send a cute tailor, won’t you?”

“Our expert is reaching his seventies.”

“Hmm. I’m used to older men, but,”

“More experienced?”

“But not as bendy.”

Josephine covered her mouth in a laugh as he left. He was glad he could joke around with her instead of being the one who just requested wine and nice clothes. As he went to Korvyn’s quarters, he started to feel like the different people here made more of an effort to care than a majority of the people he left behind; Like there might be a place here for him that wasn't just “useful mage.”

He found Korvyn laying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling with swaths of different fabric strewn about the magnificent quarters. 

“I take it you already had your fitting.”

Korvyn turned his head to look at Dorian but made no effort to move.

“Dorian. Do me a favor and chuck me over the ledge there.”

“And prove all the rumors about me true?” Korvyn gave a short groan and Dorian tsked, moving closer to take a seat on the lounge. “Surely it’s not all that bad.”

“Do you think Cullen is more attractive than me?”

Dorian was taken aback. “What?” 

“What about Blackwall?”

“Sweet Maker, what’s this about?”

“Nothing,” A blush started to rise on his face. “Just wondering if I have competition for . . . something.”

“For what? If it’s for being grizzly and uncouth, then yes, they win,” Though Dorian conceded that was a bit unfair. “Although our Commander does  _ attempt _ to shave.”

“I just,” Korvyn sat up with some effort and Dorian had hardly seen him look so miserable. “I want someone to like me.”

“A someone in particular, I know.”

“Dorian,” Korvyn elongated his name into an impressive whine. “Please help me.”

“You don’t need that much help.”

“I really do.”

“So this is just about Josephine? Making your way through your advisers?”

Korvyn threw a hand over his face in embarrassment. “ _ Shit _ , Cullen told you.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s just that I asked it of myself.” Korvyn leaned his elbows onto his knees. “Was I just interested in people who seemed to care about my well-being - just because they were around, you know? But it’s changed I mean, I was interested in Cullen because, well, you’ve seen him.”

“Yes.”

“Right. But Josie. . . Josephine, I mean. There’s a different connection happening. I don’t know. We actually talk a lot after meetings and sometimes she needs to let all her stress out and I can let her just talk at me for hours - and it feels good to be able to be that person for her.” He grinned, but he was not looking at Dorian. “She’s not just beautiful, she’s extremely clever and talented and so kind when she needs to be, but so  _ cunning _ too - the way she can so ruthlessly cut connections here and there,”  Then he scrubbed both hands over his face. “Uhgm I’m dying over it. She has cute moles on her face that are so kissable. Is that inappropriate? That’s probably a gross thing to say.” Dorian unconsciously rubbed at his own mole beneath his eye. “Maybe I’m just a creep. I don’t know - what’s the difference between infatuation and - and something more? Do you know?”

“Ah, well,” Dorian had barely a clue. It seemed he was in a strange situation now where he was counselling Korvyn, rather than the figurehead of the Inquisition. Things were a bit more precarious than just telling him to take her to dinner. “What are your past experiences?”

“Non-existent.”

“What - Really?”

“I just know how to flirt - barely.In the Circle I was around the same people since I was a little kid - they’re basically family. Not dateable.”

Dorian tried to remember what Cullen had said about such things. His dutiful pragmatism seems more appropriate than what Dorian would suggest. “Perhaps, well- Perhaps it’s better to let time pass to collect your thoughts. You know, maybe put it aside for a time that’s more convenient?”

“What if there _ is no future _ for-” Korvyn stopped himself. “What if we don’t-”

“Alright, look at this way,” Dorian tried to spare him from going down those dark paths of thought. “You’re in a certain position that is, well, influential. It could make things a  _ tad _ complicated, not even a blink as close to the consequences of where you stand now.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true. And it could put unfair pressure on her, and. . .”

“Look, I’m not here to convince you one way or the other.” Were these his words coming out of his mouth? Was it Korvyn who he was advising? “But it might cool your head a little to take a step back from it. Maybe the pressure of what you need to do is making everything seem harder than it needs to be, especially with feelings you’re not sure about yet.”

“That’s just it; it’s everything on top of one another. This thing with Josie, the training with Fade magic, the Winter Palace, this weird shit with the Grey Wardens, and  _ I can’t fucking lie to save my life, Dorian _ ; They’re going to eat me alive.”

“Well you don’t need to worry about cannibalism just yet as long as you keep things curt. There’s really no need to lie at all.”

“How?”

“For starters, be politely vague, omit details, turn the subject to the person you’re talking with- and Orlesians are self-absorbed enough to answer questions about themselves.” Korvyn furrowed his brow in consideration of what Dorian said in the same way he had when they spoke magical theory. “Avoid talking about yourself at all, I would say. Talk about the Inquisition as some sort of sentient organization that is large and should be respected and I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine.” 

Korvyn took in a steady breath. “Okay.”

Dorian stood and regarded him with a slight chuckle. “The man who helped me take down a demon last night worries over parties and pretty ladies come morning. You’ll be alright.”

“Wait, did you want to talk about the Fade? Why did you come to my quarters?”

“No, nothing like that. Just a concerned ambassador pointed me here,” he said, as he walked down the stairs.

“Dorian!” Korvyn called out for explanation, but Dorian left with a smile. 

 

As the evening went on, Dorian decided to leave Cullen alone to gather his dignity, despite how delicious it would be to tease him. Well, maybe Cullen wasn’t even thinking about that and was still working, but regardless, it seemed time to leave him be. He couldn’t bear the thought of going too far and losing his friendliness, rivalry, and confidence. He would need to lay low.

Of course, notes needed continuation at the library but he needed his own break. Dorian found Iron Bull at the tavern and he had his own thoughts about the upcoming Winter Palace visit - mostly glad that he didn’t have to go. When he mentioned Vol Dorma, Dorian only felt a little homesick; He had once gone there with Felix for an academic interview, though Iron Bull mentioned it was because they had excellent desserts and well-endowed sex-workers. When they both said the name of the brothel in unison, they had to laugh. He had been very unsure about Bull, but after getting turned away from him he felt safer knowing he wouldn’t be taken advantage of. Of course, that wouldn’t stop him from his occasional comments, but Dorian liked the attention now. He could never quite get off the high of being admired. 

“We could do what you want,” Bull suggested. “If you wanted to stay.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Dorian replied, but he couldn’t help a cheeky smile.

Bull gave a sharp grin. “But you’ve thought about it.” Dorian laughed goodnaturedly and Bull continued. “I know, I know. You have your own plans.”

“Oh? That’s news to me.”

“The ‘vint’s so lost in the game he even fools himself.”

“Wrong! I only ever get lost in my cups.”

“That too.” But Bull turned his attention and Dorian followed it. Korvyn moved toward them and Iron Bull moved back to give him space. 

“Back for more advice?” Dorian asked, leaning on the bar table.

“Dorian. . .” Korvyn started, and said more quietly, “I’ve got a letter. . .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> -The last few chapters before this one have been very long, so I’m aiming for half that length in upcoming chapters in order to push them out faster for you guys. :)  
> -There are some of the usual anachronistic uses of slang and phrases here and there, but I figure all of Dragon Age is anachronistic fantasy, so. . .?  
> -We’re also never told how anyone keeps time in the castle so for practical reasons I would assume there would be some system or shifts like chimes to keep the Inquisition well-oiled and on time.  
> -I’m sure you can all guess that I’m going to include Dorian’s side-quest, but it’s been written about in a myriad of ways, so I’ll move through things quickly and it might be a short chapter - but that also means it will be done faster?


	12. He'll Wait for You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: As you might expect, TW for implied abuse in this one. There’s a bit about parents and the baggage that comes with them which I know can be a little close to home with a lot of readers so tread lightly.

Granted, Redcliff wasn’t too far to cause a hindrance to plans the Inquisitor already had in progress, but the secrecy was unusual. Cullen always knew what was happening on their war table and now there was this sudden need for mystery. Korvyn insisted that he go alone with Dorian for “personal matters,” at Dorian’s own request. He kept saying they’d be there and back like it was as casual as a camping trip, but there were still plenty of renegades out in the forests of the Hinterlands lasting out the Mage-Templar War.

“Inquisitor, you can’t expect to go unaccompanied as two mages - at least take Cassandra-”

“We aren’t _any_ two mages, Cullen. You know that.”

Cullen looked to Josephine or Leliana for support, but Leliana flicked her eyes from him to the map, where her symbol of the raven sat on the sepia hills. She had her own scouts ever vigilant. It gave some relief, but. . .

“As long as the party is dressed down and takes busy roads, I see no reason for much concern,” Josephine said. “Inquisition scouts patrol much of the area.”

Cullen didn’t like the idea at all. “It just seems unnecessarily dangerous.”

“No offense to any of you, but I’m not asking for permission,” Korvyn said, “I was trapped in time with him and he saved our lives. I owe him this much and I’d do the same for any of you, with or without any privacy you asked for.” His arms were folded and he moved his green eyes to each of them. Cullen knew then what he meant. Even if Leliana had some clue, neither she nor Josephine knew about his problems with lyrium like Korvyn did. As Korvyn looked to the others, Cullen could tell that he probably held some of their secret problems too.

“If you could only give us some detail, we mean to help anyway we can.” Cullen added.

“I understand, but I made a promise, even if it all might end up being no big deal. Meantime, you can make preparations for the Shrine of Dumat.”

It was the final word. “Inquisitor.”

 

They retired from the war room and arrangements for the Inquisitor’s quiet departure were put into place. Korvyn had made some agreement with Dorian the night before, told them all his plans in the morning, and was leaving by evening. Cullen didn’t know what these “personal matters” meant, and he was a little alarmed that Dorian had told him nothing. Of course, Dorian didn’t owe him any information, but based on what he knew, there was potential for something to go wrong for him. Did a family member die? Was it an old contact from Alexius? Was it his old lover Rilienus? Well, that _would_ be something that he would keep secret. Cullen could think of no optimistic outcome for some secret meeting he wasn’t allowed to know about, but more than gaining information, he had to worry about whether it was really something safe for Dorian if he was bringing along Korvyn for intimidation or support.

He knew Dorian would be occupied so he didn’t visit, but as Korvyn and Dorian slipped out of the castle with no fanfare or notice from the castle, Cullen stood over the ramparts to watch the horses head south. He thought he saw one of them turn back, so he stood a while longer to be a solid, loyal silhouette they could see.

 

While workers fixed the roof of Cullen’s quarters, he visited Cassandra and took to the library where he had sat with Dorian, and prepared for the coming confrontation at the Shrine of Dumat. Ideally they would find Samson there and take down or weaken the general if they could. Realistically, it was unlikely he would be there but they would do what they could as a small and powerful assault, gouging their access to red lyrium and its trafficking. Any information they could gather would be vital regardless. They would have the upper hand . . .

Maddox. It was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. Like many of the people Cullen knew of in the Gallows, he had expected he’d met an unfortunate fate. Maddox had been such an excellent craftsman; it made sense for Samson to seek him out. What a perfect reminder of all of the people who were still surviving and let down by their Knight-Captain. Cullen paused a moment as something dark and ugly tried to bubble up in his chest. A clouded panic started to seize his mind, but a memory kept him grounded. _You feel you deserve all of this? That’s the kind of guilt you can save for Andraste._ Cullen took a breath, remembering Dorian’s words. _Isn’t it better to focus on what you are changing, rather than what you can’t?_

He looked down to the work in front of him. With luck, everything would change; and it started with them.

 

 

//

 

Dorian felt alive with anger as he passed through the crowd toward the stables. Korvyn followed behind him at a decent distance to let him cool off. Not even an hour after they arrived at Redcliff, he was already prepared to jump back into that terrible saddle and get the void out of this town. He could feel the fire under his skin ready to be released on something, and his hands were even hot to the touch as he mounted his horse, its flesh feeling cold under his grasp of mane. A part of Dorian wanted to show him - show him how powerful his son had become that he would regret ever wanting to change him; but the solid steel of pride demonstrated how he didn’t even need to show his skill; he was respected here and had a position in the Inquisition. He hoped Magister Pavus could see him from the window of the tavern as he spurred the horse on and left without turning back with the Inquisitor at his side.

People casually moved out of their way, not recognizing who they were or that anything was amiss. As soon as the horses passed the city gate, Dorian was able to use his voice without it shaking, though it was all bitter on his tongue. “Fucking ridiculous waste of time.”

“I’m sorry, Dorian.”

“No, _I’m sorry_ for wasting yours, Korvyn.”

“You didn’t-”

“He even went so far as to dragging _you_ into it, like I couldn’t possibly make the _adult_ decision to join the Inquisition - _No_ , clearly I meant to sleep my way to power.”

Korvyn made a sound of sympathy for Dorian, but let him continue.

“‘ _It has always been like this_ ,’ he said. As if he’s appealing to you on behalf of a _child,_ ” Dorian said. “I particularly liked his use of ‘we’ to amplify this. . . invisible consensus of others. Like it wasn’t just him who drove me out. Instead of emptying out that tavern, he could have asked any person in that town what the Inquisitor did for them. But would he lower himself to that? _Fucking_ _absurd_.”

He spat poison about his father for another ten minutes or so and Korvyn let him go on uninterrupted. When a bear obstructed their path, he sent a fear spell so powerful that it not only sent the bear running, but also all of the animals and birds within the 50 ft blast area of the purple smoke. Dorian finally stewed into silence, but a part of him welcomed any trouble that would be unfortunate enough to try and cross him this day. The path continued on, other travelers began filling the roads and murmuring their own conversations, and Dorian quieted. Righteous anger folded into disappointment, which simmered into a melancholy.

If his father truly wanted to apologize, there wouldn’t have been all of the underhanded attempts to get him there and then secret away in a paid-off tavern. He couldn’t even put aside his ego to meet him in public like an honest man; to meet him without the implication of disgrace. Dorian had almost done it - when Halward asked to speak with him alone. He could still see in his father’s eyes the man who helped him through his summer homework as a child, taught him how to rein back his magic, and how to shave his face. Those eyes used to reflect back the pride of his blood, and even in the times when Dorian had been difficult in moving from tutor to tutor, still his father had an unwavering surety of his son’s greatness and they were all just small blemishes on the way to a moulded perfection.  

But the thought of being alone with him in a room again - of walls keeping him in and shame weighing him to the floor; where hands might come up behind him, hold him steady as he became nothing more than property of the Pavus bloodline - the smallest hint of it had him out the door. That trust was lost forever. It was irreparable half a year ago, the moment he was confined to his childhood room and a space of safety was turned into an institution.

    Korvyn trotted up beside him on his horse after a while and the mountain air in the west blew clean and easy over the beaten path. A collapsed stone wall marked the territory they were leaving and they turned north. Dorian looked to Korvyn, but he had nothing more to say. He had liked being a magical mentor figure for him and now he felt knocked down; discredited. He hoped Korvyn knew him better, but Dorian hadn’t let much of his self be seen. When the wind slowed down, he found his voice. “Korvyn, I wanted to . . . thank you. You could have easily listened to Mother Giselle and led me here unprepared. I’m not sure what would have happened in that case. Nothing good.”

“Of course I had to tell you,” he said, easy as the truth it was. “She’s part of the Chantry, but you’re my friend.” When Dorian thought about how the Inquisition was primarily organized by devout advisers, it seemed amazing to him that none of them put the Southern Chantry in higher order of their own better judgement, and he was thankful for it. “I know stuff with family can be difficult. I just didn’t realize _how bad_ it was on your side.”

    “We’ve had problems for almost as long as I can remember. Granted, I was never beaten, but-”

    “Well _that_ doesn’t matter. There are lots of ways to hurt someone. That shouldn’t have happened to you.”  

“And yours?”

“You want to know?”

Honestly, Dorian just wanted someone to talk so he didn’t have to, but now that he thought of it, he didn’t really know much about Korvyn outside of his education. “Now I’m curious.”

Korvyn looked around them, but it was a mostly straight and empty road ahead of them. “I haven’t had bad relations to my parents exactly, but things are complicated. Maker, stop me if I start ranting.” He rolled his eyes. “They’re noble-merchant class - we’re respected, but on the margins of the elite, you know how it is. So one of us will have to inherit the estate and businesses. My big brother completely fucked off and became a Grey Warden.” Dorian hid his surprise. The stakes with the Grey Wardens seemed to be amplified by this revelation. “This was even before the Blight. Haven’t seen him since I was a tiny kid. Maybe the pressure was too much for him; who knows?

“So that left me as the heir for a few years until my magic showed itself. My parents still fight about who must have had a mage in the family. Anyway, I was sent off to the Circle leaving my little sister as heir when she was only eleven.” He smiled. “I really miss her. She must be. . .21 now? She was the only one who wrote me letters about how she was being groomed to take things over. Boom, conclave explodes, I’m called ‘Herald of Andraste,’ and my parents finally reach out to me again trying to figure out what’s going on - they’re pretty pious, went to Orlais every Summerday - talking about how if mages are ‘free’ now, then I can come back and claim the estate. Can you imagine that? Write me off as unfortunate for my magic and then try and claim me for the family again.

“Of course I couldn’t do that to my sister, for Maker’s sake, it should all belong to her for working so hard. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. When all this blows over, I’m going to spread around any power or influence for _her_ sake. Josephine has been helping me manage all of my clammering relatives; She’s a dream.” He paused a moment to cringe at his own words. “Maker, now I’m spilling all of my past on you!”

“I asked you for a reason.” Dorian spared him the ghost of a smile. “Do you know, I believe we’re related.”

“Yeah, good one.”

“There _was_ a Trevelyan somewhere on the tree. Might have even been the one who went to Ostwick. We used to have to memorize bloodlines, you see, and when looking through the old mnemonics, I saw the name. Do you have an ancestor named Erasmus?

Korvyn looked as if he had eaten something sour. “Andraste’s sword, there’s a creepy old painting of him in the den - Hundreds of years old.”

“Don’t think about it too much. Go back far enough, a good chunk of Thedas is from Tevinter blood.”

Korvyn finally swallowed the truth with some good humor. “So _there’s_ the magic in the family.”

 

    Despite Korvyn’s attempts at light conversation, it was mostly a solitary return back alongside the mountain highway. It was easier for Dorian to stay quiet and atypical than to open his mouth and pretend to be perfectly ordinary; he was emotionally exhausted and had no more energy for conversation. As the horses moved along, he let Korvyn talk most of the time and was finally starting to see how different points came together to make him the person he was. At least Dorian was glad to have his mind off of his own problems.

The weather was clear so they made their way back within the few days allotted. They arrived to a snow-covered Skyhold about midday, again with few being the wiser and no gathering of people to meet them but for the advisers who waited on the stone landing. They started walking down the stairs as Korvyn and Dorian went to the stables with their horses. When Dorian’s feet hit the ground, he was bogged down by the weight of unwanted memories. He wanted to sleep until he remembered himself.

    “I’ll talk to them,” Korvyn assured, and left his horse to Dennet to meet his advisers halfway. Their voices carried through the snow, and he could feel their eyes on his back.

    “Everything’s . . . _relatively_ fine,” Korvyn said. “No physical confrontation or anything like that.”

“And Dorian?” Cullen’s voice.

“It had to do with his family, but he took care of it. Give him a bit of time.”

Dorian grabbed the rest of his belongings and moved towards the kitchen opening to slide away from view. They were starting on dinner preparations and Dorian stayed out of their way. The staff didn’t mind him - used to seeing him stop by for the wine - but someone smashed a bowl when Cole materialized on the kitchen table. Dorian gave a start, but kept walking when his gentle voice said: “He wanted to say sorry.”

    “Thank you, Cole, but now is not the best time,” Dorian said, moving towards the cellar.

“He waited for you in the tower,” Cole said, his voice drifting on. Dorian turned back to look at him.

“Cullen?”

“Yes. He’ll wait for you.”     
    As an aggressive chef moved to give him a push off the table, he evaporated like smoke, making the room jump once more.

 

Dorian sat idle in his room for a long time until evening came. He wanted to read, but he couldn’t concentrate. He wanted to spar, but he was too tired. He wanted to get drunk, but he didn’t want the hangover. He wanted to see Cullen. . . but he knew that meant saying a lot that was hard to say. Would it be so terrible to really talk it out? Cullen had talked through his problems with Dorian, and while things weren’t perfect, they had come to understand each other a little better. Maybe he could bring a bottle and they could drink together. It had been fun the last time they did; could be - bad. No, a very bad idea. Hurt and inebriated was not a good look on anyone and Cullen didn’t need a messy drunk crawling into his lap. _He'll wait for you_. Hiding in his room and avoiding his problems was so much more convenient. . .

 

“Dorian, hello,” Cullen said when Dorian entered his office. He stood with the small knife Dorian had given him in his hand, cutting open sealed envelopes by the fire. They looked at each other a moment, Cullen clearly not expecting him to come that evening. “They fixed my roof.”

“It does seem warmer in here. Are you free?”

“Of course.” Dorian walked towards the large desk, but hearing the tones from his own mouth indicated that something was off. He used to be so impeccable at keeping his voice steady, his mouth quirked. Maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Cullen must have been learning Dorian’s cues, since he asked, “. . .Are you alright?"

"I think I need a drink before I can answer that question."

“You can if you’d like.” He put down his knife and envelope on the desk.

Dorian sat down in the chair before Cullen’s desk and relaxed into it, crossing his ankles. He felt better here, despite his nerves. He liked the rich reds and browns of the office, the messy parchments, the burnt and toppled candles and sealing wax on the mantelpiece, and he liked knowing that Cullen would always put aside time for him. “I trust Korvyn filled in some of the details.”

“Actually, no. He’s been very secretive on your behalf.”

 _Bless and curse Korvyn’s respectability_ , Dorian thought. “Well. . . Did you want to know?”

“Did you want to tell me?”

If only Dorian could reach out that far. He tried his best to sound casual. “. . . It’s my father.” Instead of sitting on the opposite side of the desk, Cullen walked to the side Dorian was on, and leaned against it to face him. “I mentioned before, haven’t I? How I had a betrothed. A woman.”

“Despite your preferences.”

“Yes.” Here now. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to explain. “That sort of thing is expected. Magic flows in the blood and magic is power, therefore it’s in everyone’s interest to breed the most powerful children that they can. My mother and father were chosen for each other for that very reason.” He chanced to look at Cullen who listened patiently as if taking in a report. “They suffered to create me, as I’m often reminded, who is expected to carry the family further into greatness. So, likewise, I’m supposed to suffer as well, force myself into marriage with another powerful mage and create a strong child. To do otherwise, of course, is considered utterly selfish.

“Me being me, I very moderately followed along until I thought they would realize how absurd they were being. Unfortunately, they were doing the same thing with me, putting up with my expulsions until they thought I would give up and settle down. That was air to the flame and we were all disappointed.” That was an understatement. There were a few unforgivable things said to one another. “They barely tolerated my proclivities, as long as it was kept hidden for long enough for me to get married and procreate.”

“You had to hide that part of yourself? From everyone?”

“Ha, as if people didn't know. But private life and public life are very different things. How you mix on the streets and alleys is a different person from who smiles at parties.”

“The Game,” Cullen said with loathing.

“Yes, but a tad deadlier. The frippery and assassinations of Orlais are similar, but they don't usually have the power of ancient blood magic rituals behind them, you understand.” Dorian started squeezing his own laced fingers and noticed Cullen had crossed his own arms in defense as if angered on Dorian’s behalf. He was strangely pleased that Cullen would share some of his anger. “As an Altus, I had more authority to do what I wanted outside of the parties as long as I was a convincing and charming as possible to uphold the Pavus name in public standing. When street reputation starts bleeding into the family name, it's _worse_ than scandal. It's reputation that passes down, just like privileges do.

“I think a part of me wanted to be cast out. It's why I let myself be seen in taverns, brothels, was so reckless with Ulio, always. I couldn't handle that anymore.” Here it was, and with renewed anger it was easier to say. “I had expected to be disowned; welcomed it. Magister Pavus had many apprentices he could have elevated instead, I figured. I had never expected him to do what he had planned. Which is why he almost made it happen, I suppose. I'm his heir, his product of magical blood, his recipient of the best magical education. He had invested far too much in me to cut the line.”

Cullen put a hand on his shoulder and Dorian welcomed it. He was keeping him grounded.

“My entire mind, my personality – _everything_ I've accomplished and learned and cultivated as a mage and as a person over years - over my lifetime! – _it wasn't fucking good enough_ ; he would risk it all for a ritual. Because I like men.”

“Dorian,”

“He was going to change me.”

“With blood magic?”

“I had been proud that at least my family never resorted to such desperate measures. Blood magic is powerful but risky, and we were strong enough not to rely on it. He had taught me that.” That a strong mage could rely on their own wits without deals or contracts. That same logic that let Dorian know he could count on himself to make the best magic possible. The blood pulsed in his ears. “I was captive for months in my own home. It probably took him that long to find the method and the help. He didn't have those kind of connections before, you see. Maybe it could have gone wrong and obliterated my mind. Maybe it would have worked - but it wouldn’t have been me, really. It would have been the death of the Dorian everyone knew.”

“Maker, your own father,” Cullen bristled “What kind of a man-?” But he stopped himself. Who else would understand this situation better than Cullen? He lifted his hand from Dorian’s shoulder to cross his arms again tightly.

“Luckily, I escaped. Unwelcome at home, no sponsor to continue working; I was lying low with any family or friend that would take me. Then I was tipped off to what Alexius was up to, followed him south, and here I am. That was only several months ago. . .I was in a bad state when I left. Down here, no one knew me. I could act like my old self.” _And adopt the title of pariah._ Was it really so recent? “Then he shows up to apologize?” He scoffed. “It’s _far_ too late for that. It was an attempt to get me back to Tevinter. To be refined for the Magisterium again, probably. Doing my own research here, being able to use my magic outside of a lab -to be able to have privacy! To then go back with him? I’d rather have my wits and my freedom.”

Dorian felt himself winding down, and exhaustion coming with it. “You and Korvyn are the only friends who really know now, though Mae has her suspicions. Everyone back in Tevinter thinks I ran for it, like a romantic rebel - or maybe a kicked dog.”  

Cullen stood up straighter, determined in some manner. “That doesn't make it any less brave.”

Dorian's mouth smiled, but he still held pain in his throat. “Korvyn said that too. It doesn't matter any longer.”

“Of course it matters. Dorian.” His hand went back to hold Dorian's shoulder, and Dorian felt limp beneath it. Cullen’s thumb stroked his collarbone and he hated how good it felt at a wretched time. “I know you want to move on; I understand that better than anyone, but these things that happen to us _do_ matter. And I'm sorry it happened to you.”

Dorian sighed, though he still smiled. “What are _you_ sorry about?”

“I don't know; I wish I could do something.”

“You already _are_. I. Just thought you should know. You’ve always been honest with me; it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“But I can stop now. It doesn't really. . . “

Cullen was giving him a look. "You need a distraction?"

“Maker, yes.” He sighed into a smile. Cullen was starting to understand without asking too many questions. Dorian regretted the absence of Cullen’s hand when he moved to go towards his desk. He pulled out a flat wooden box with a checked pattern.

“I do have this.”

“Checkers? I haven't played since I was a boy!”

“Sera nicked my expensive chess set and replaced it with this, though it's actually a fun game.”

    They set it up quickly and Dorian glanced at the rules for only a moment before tossing it aside and they began moving pieces forward.

Cullen was on it immediately. “This isn’t chess. You can’t move that back piece forward.”

“What, and leave my man open?”

“The rules require you to jump at every opportunity.”

“ _Rules._ ” And like that, Dorian could feel his old self unfurling in this space of comfort and familiarity. It took them a few tries to get started on the game and they gave each other as much trouble as possible.

“King me.”

“Go king yourself,” Dorian said, and despite the smug satisfaction of Cullen he was enjoying himself. This game was much faster.

“So what’s the meaning behind all of the letters? I imagine our Inquisitor has kept you busy as always?”

“Yes, and I’ll be out on the field soon enough.” Cullen placed his piece down with surety.

“You’re leaving Skyhold?”

“To Northern Orlais. The timing is crucial, so our party will leave a week in advance to the others who we’ll meet at the Winter Palace.”

“Hmm. Not the best idea to get new scars before meeting the empress. Luckily I’m getting better every day at healing.”

“ _You’re_ not going - There will most likely be red lyrium. After the effects on you and the Inquisitor after Emprise du Leon you expect to go?” he asked with incredulity.

“Oh, and that makes it safer for _you_? I don’t suppose you’ve been around red lyrium since Haven?” Dorian asked, though he knew the answer. “Trevelyan will take me. King me.”

“Don’t test my authority, Dorian.”

“ _Ooh_ , go on, Commander. Are you going to pull rank on me?”

Cullen looked for a moment as if he were prepared to lecture about how serious of a situation it was, but he knew that Dorian knew. Humor was how they dealt with the burden. He let it slide with a sigh. “You’re incurably stubborn.”

“Said the pot to the kettle. What would I do at Skyhold without you around to bother every day?”

“Miraculous things, probably.”

“What was _that_ ? There are double jumps in Checkers, not _triple_ jumps.”

“Oh. Really?”

“If we’re playing by the rules.”

“I was almost there anyway. . .”

    A few games deep and their hands started moving quickly over the board. They knocked each other’s fingers out of the way a few times, sharing curses at the other’s expense. Dorian could hardly believe that he had shared something so important about himself and they were laughing so easily after. Despite the game before him, as they quieted down his mind stretched a bit backward wondering if his father was already back on the road back to Tevinter. Wondered what he would say to his mother.

“You still have a lot to think about,” Cullen interrupted. “You can keep talking if you’d like.”

Dorian felt his laugh turn nervous. “Only, we've moved past the subject.”

“Subjects don’t have shelf lives. What’s on your mind?”

Dorian moved a spare checker piece over his knuckles as if it were a coin and wondered what would be appropriate. “May I ask something personal?”

Cullen almost barked a laugh. “Nothing ever stopped you before.”

“Do _your_ parents mind, at all? Your. . . choices of partner.”

“My parents joined the Maker after the Blight.”

“Oh, of course,” Before he could apologize, Cullen continued.

“They didn’t really know me past thirteen years of age, since I went to the Circle and was terrible at writing letters. They never made any assumptions though, which was nice. The idea of finding a wife someday was never really pressed on me, just open as an option until I became a Templar. I had a great-aunt who had a wife, but I also had a female cousin who married a dwarven man - it was uncommon, but nothing frowned upon, merely that they had a different path in the way of love, just as Andraste had.”

Cullen said it all so matter-of-factly, so naturally confident, that Dorian felt a sort of envy that sunk his heart like iron. That a child could have such acceptance made him feel robbed. He had learned to enjoy what made him different, but much of that came from having to harden himself to cruelty, and accept that he would never quite fit in seamlessly.

“With the way Tevinter values marriage dynamics and gifted children, I can see why it would dwindle down that path of breeding over companionship. It’s unfortunate.”

“I can’t even. . . imagine what it would be like,” Dorian confessed. “Ferelden is so much more isolated that it seems like they would have worse issues with anyone who stood out; I thought the acceptance here was by Korvyn’s influence and the recruits from Orlais.”

“It’s more isolated, yes, which is why petty differences don’t mean anything when you’re just trying to make a living. Unfortunately, the freedom to love who you wanted wouldn’t be too much good to you, as a mage. The same instinct to survive is what creates fear of mages.”

“Of course. The duplicity of the uneducated.”

“ _Easy_ there.”

Dorian let himself lapse back into things that bothered him about the whole affair, venting like he was a boy back at the Circle to his dorm-mate, and maybe it was the checkers that brought a lot back at the same time. Cullen, who was experienced with bantering, whether with his recruits or with Dorian, had terrific timing on when to affirm or when to interject some grapevine wisdom. He would lean his head onto his hand and smile at Dorian so warmly that anything outside of the office washed away.

When they finished several more games and Dorian decided it was time to leave, they both stood and hovered over the board to collect the remaining pieces. Cullen was talking about something, but Dorian was watching his mouth, his jaw, his neck. They were inches away from each other and the need to reach out to him was unusually strong. A wicked little thought suggested: _What if you just did it_?

Well, what if he did? Cullen might turn him down; maybe he wouldn’t be too upset. But what would be the point? Just to see what happened? To satiate his curiosity? To reach out because he was so desperately in need of touch?

Cullen had reminded him several times that he couldn’t afford distractions. _Don’t mess with people just because you’re lonely._ Dorian closed the shutters on the uncertainty and his weakness. It wasn’t a good time, if there ever was one.  
    “Good night, Cullen. And thank you.”

“Any time.”

 

//

 

    Despite the culminating pressure of putting plans into action, Cullen found himself in a good mood. They made preparations at the war table for the journey to the Shrine of Dumat, the rendezvous at Halamshiral, and, Maker willing their was no dramatic political upheaval, the Inquisitor could follow Hawke’s leads to the Western Approach. It would be interesting to be on a mission with the inner circle, whose strengths he knew but hadn’t been able to collaborate with firsthand until now. Of course, Dorian had gotten his way and convinced Korvyn to take him along.

    Cullen had to curse his own pathetic pining, but he had been proud the other evening when Dorian had been willing to share with him. He had let Cullen comfort him in a small way and gave him a strange turn in feeling significant to another person. As Commander, he made important decisions and advances every day, but as Cullen, he was able to slightly comfort a friend in need, which was enough to make him feel like more than just a cog in a large war mechanism. He had had another dream about Dorian, of sharp breaths, biting lips, and gripping fingertips. It had left him breathless and slightly incapacitated, but he reminded himself that these were just pedestal illusions, not the man himself. It made him feel guilty, but he had to admit that he would take a hundred dreams about Dorian over the horrors of the Circles.

After a long day of paperwork, Cullen had been meaning to speak to Dorian about their basic plan and went to the rotunda, but when he approached his usual nook, the man wasn't there. It seemed improper to call out in the library, so he looked from side to side. Dorian must have heard his armor up the stairs, because his head poked out from the flight leading to the upper level. With a silent but frantic wave, he called Cullen over.

“What's this about?” he asked, but Dorian put his finger to Cullen's mouth, shushing him instantly. It was an close yet childish gesture that froze him into place, but he heard then what Dorian meant by it.

“An entanglement with our Ambassador seems. .  .most unwise.”

Cullen's eyebrows raised, and he pointed up to the voice in question. Dorian nodded, biting his lip to keep back a smile. Leliana’s soft cadence could be heard in the slight echo of the rookery. " . . . because we needed a diplomat, not so she could be toyed with."

“I'm not trying to-” Korvyn replied.

Cullen gave a quick inhale, making Dorian slap his arm. Cullen moved his hand over his mouth to stop any more sounds from coming out. With the cawing of ravens nearby, it was difficult to hear.

“Whatever is between you, I ask that you treat her with kindness.”

Dorian and Cullen looked to each other, seeing their own smiles reflected back. When they heard Korvyn's steps approaching, they shuffled out of the way in a panic. Dorian was swift and quickly moved to the nearest shelf. Cullen, however, was no rogue, and his armor gave him away when he stepped back and the Inquisitor rounded the stairs to almost run into him.

The best he could do was a simple lie, maybe pretend he was looking for him. "Inquisitor, there you are,"

Korvyn blushed immediately. “Ah, Cullen, Just- uh -checking in with our Spymaster. I need to speak with Josi- Josephine. Uh, sorry, I'll-? Catch you later?” He was too flustered to think that anything seemed strange, and quickly retreated down the rotunda.

Cullen looked back over to Dorian who was looking over his shoulder.

“They're actually-!” he blurted

“Shhh!” Dorian was slapping his arm lightly again. “I know, but keep it down!” he whispered harshly.

“I _knew_ something was going on, but for Leliana-”

“No, 2 royals they haven't even kissed yet.”

“If you gentlemen are _quite_ done.”

They both started, looking up to see the deadly smile of the Nightingale. Cullen coughed and nodded, while Dorian gave a slight bow as they stepped away from the stairs to move out of her way.

They kept a very composed stature until they made it outside.


	13. Think You Have A Chance?

The strangest part of their departure was that Cullen did not stand at his post on the battlements to watch them leave, rather, he was seated beside them on his horse. The Commander had seemed to be so much a part of the castle that to have him with the party felt like robbing Skyhold of a vital organ; but of course the other advisers could handle things. Dorian felt himself mentally preparing for several days away from the comforts he prefered as they headed for the gate, but also for several days of being side-by-side with Cullen, for which he had no reference of what to expect. At least they had another arm against their foes. Dorian would always prefer to take down demons over Red Templars, but the less of them in the world the better. 

Their horses brayed to get a move on through snow, and others watched to see them leave. He saw Cullen give a small wave to a girl who was standing beside Cassandra. Their Lady Seeker was supposedly going to handle a few things for Cullen while he was gone, though Dorian didn’t know much about the girl at her side. Her lips were frowning while she wiped away a few tears and gave a small wave back. 

It was a frosty morning and Dorian had layered up in white robes and a midnight blue scarf while flecks of snow followed their path off the bridge. The recruits stopped their drills when they saw their Commander and were at attention as they walked past. It was a nice show of respect that Korvyn had told them not to waste their time doing for him, but the loyalty of Cullen’s recruits had them showing esteem without it being mentioned beforehand. Even the mages who were up early stood for a moment to watch them pass with slight bows before the path curled against the cliffs and they were out of sight. 

“I like the decorum,” Dorian said. “We should bring the Commander more often.”

Korvyn smirked.“You just want an audience.” 

“Gerander shouldn’t have been out there;” Cullen mumbled. “She only just recovered from a knee injury.” 

“She knows her limits,” Iron Bull reassured him.

“Which you know all about?” Dorian asked.

“I know you’re desperate to know about my sex life,” Bull said deadpan, “but she is married. Not that that’s stopped couples before, but.” Cullen coughed. 

“Don’t start, you two,” Korvyn said, rolling his eyes. Dorian and Iron Bull liked to aggressively flirt, though sometimes it did border on barbs and insults. Of course, Dorian was fluent in flirtatious banter, but Iron Bull would occasionally take it up a level that Dorian wouldn’t commit to. Cole continued to stroke the neck of his horse and they rode on.

The sun moved up and over them and they were soon far past Skyhold and the ruins of Haven where the green scar in the sky still hovered. Dorian had remembered how it had taken days for them to move through the clogged trails of snow with their wounded to find the dereliction of Skyhold. Amazing how a clear path and paid maintenance could change how fast they covered ground. Rocky trails became rough plains of shrubs, which became a well-trodden trail of scattered trees. Talk moved here and there, halted, started up again. Cullen seemed more content than Dorian had seen him in a long time. He took long glances around them and would get a satisfied smile on his face as they entered new areas. Despite this, Cullen was relatively quiet, which he found unusual until he remembered that before they had gotten to know each other he had always thought the Commander was stoic and reserved which was what made his stammering so quaint. It was also possible that the upcoming mission was on his mind, but Dorian could now see the acute line where his public face was separate from his private face. Of course, he was still honest about his feelings regardless, but with the others he seemed to only share what was necessary and kept to himself. Varric had said it best when he mentioned that Cullen had good stories to share and occasional wit, but his need to deflect attention from himself made it an unintentionally well-kept secret behind the grumpy impatience of running a tight ship. Dorian could imagine that the loyalty of the recruits came from the one-on-one conversations he may have had with each of them to improve a stance, a swing, a temper; a figure who monitored them with care as well as discipline - someone you wouldn’t want to let down. And who waved at small, distressed children, apparently.

As Korvyn and Cole talked ahead of them, Cullen turned to see Dorian watching him. “What is it?” he asked, somewhat guarded. 

“I was thinking about that little girl by Cassandra.”

Cullen’s face lightened. “That was Robin, Cassandra’s devotee of a sort.”

“She seemed upset.”

“She was used to seeing me around. After Haven, it’s probably hard for the younger ones who lost parents to see someone go.”

“Do you want children someday?”

“Yes,” Cullen replied, without a thought. “But I also have to be content with the fact that it probably won’t happen.”

Iron Bull joined in. “Not exactly the sort of thing you can plan as you make your way to ancient ruins crawling with Red Templars.”

“On the contrary, it may work as motivation,” Dorian said. “Do you know much about Dumat, Bull?” 

“Ancient dragon that gave blood magic to the ‘vints; became Archdemon; Blah, blah, blah.”

“And who Corypheus was devoted to; until, it seems, he shafted his god to become one himself.”

“So he sticks his own operations there.”

“Nostalgia, maybe? There may be some interesting things at this place. If we are able, we should stick around to see what’s there that might seem important to him.”

“Still seems weird that Templars would follow a Magister.”

“They follow Samson,” Cullen replied. “For loyalty, heretical anger; and Andraste knows how easily they lose themselves with Red Lyrium. Perhaps then battle becomes the only outlet.”

“And what about you, Commander?” Iron Bull asked. 

“Me?”

“Probably been awhile since you got your sword wet.” Bull commented. Dorian rolled his eyes.

“That’s true.”

“But you keep it  _ well-polished _ .”

“Er,”   
“Always a firm grip on that pommel.”   
Dorian was going to fall sideways off his horse at this rate. “Maker, what’s next? Going to ask how he’d wield his spear?”

“No, I save that for you.”

Cullen added, “I was waiting for him to ask me about my thrust.” Iron Bull laughed in earnest. Dorian also smiled, but he was wary of the imagery. He was learning a lot about Cullen’s hips as they followed the gait of his horse. 

“Are you all going to make me regret bringing you?” Korvyn turned to ask, as if he addressed embarrassing parents.

“At least our Commander knows how to play along,” Bull chuckled.

“Of course he does,” Dorian interjected. “He has good taste in friends.” 

“Rubbing off on him, huh? Do you buy him-” 

“-Dinner first?” Dorian sighed, “Heard that one before.”

“But it’s a classic,” Bull defended. He turned to Cullen. “Why do you hang around with this guy?”

Cullen gave a small laugh. “It’s his profound modesty.” 

Dorian turned his head so he wouldn’t be seen smiling too much and trotted a bit forward to catch up with Korvyn. “If this is going to be the theme of the trip, I should stay ahead,” Korvyn commented. As they moved several paces forward, Korvyn turned his head around, searching. “Do you feel that?” He asked.

They were still high enough in elevation to overlook the Ferelden valleys. Dorian looked east but could see the usual sight of Lake Calenhad in the distance. The path arched downward toward the Imperial Highway where there was only faint spatterings of snow on the hills. On such a nice day, it was hard to believe it was still winter. He was about to ask what Korvyn meant when the smallest surge of energy, like the air before a storm, washed over him and was gone. He and Korvyn both looked to the sky for any dark clouds, but it was clear. 

“Cole,” Korvyn slightly called ahead, “Do you feel a rift nearby?” 

Cole turned slightly to answer, feeling it out for himself. “Yes. . . only, it’s out of place - out of time.” Cullen and Iron Bull stopped their own banter to listen in. 

“We’ll have to go off the path,” Korvyn said. “This one feels. . . ”

“I know.” Dorian agreed. It was strangely charged, not unlike the rifts that had ripped open in Redcliff. The very fact that they felt it so close without seeing it meant that it had to be within a nearby grove. 

Iron Bull stretched his arms. “Only half a day’s travel out and already running into trouble. Good; wouldn’t want stiff shoulders.”

 

The Ferelden countryside west of the lake was much more dense with forest that pushed up against the Frostbacks. Korvyn wouldn’t risk the horses to demons and had them at a safe perimeter, hidden far enough off the trail as they moved into suspicious territory.

The trees were low and evergreen, leaving a full canopy of leaves that left the ground shaded, but the winter had left only skeletons of shrubs and yellow brush to walk on. Perhaps it would have been beautiful and cozy in the summer, but within the grove there was an eerie silence, where animals avoided the charged air of a nearby rift. Dorian turned around one large rock to see a face and jumped. “Maker,” he whispered, sizing up the decrepit Avaar carving. “You think you’ve seen the ugliest statue and the Avaar take it as a challenge.” 

“This was their territory long ago,” Cullen said.

Cole smiled when he touched it. “Lots of people gathered here. Friends would meet.” 

“No one here now,” Korvyn said warily.

The static in the air picked up, and there was an unnatural glow peeking between stark trunks, casting long shadows. Korvyn’s hand gave a flare of green smoke and he tried to hide a grimace. “Be extra careful,” he warned. “This one is off.” Cole went stealth and moved backwards. 

“Watch their radius of engagement,” Dorian added. “This smells of time anomalies.”

“My favorite,” Bull grumbled. Cullen unsheathed his sword that echoed in the surrounding emptiness, and they all moved into their stances.

Korvyn took a breath and held his hand up to spark the rift into activating. With a thunderous crack, it belched open in green acid and they all knew what to expect. As a demon spawned from the ground, Cullen moved in immediately with precision, trying to take down the threat as quickly as possible. As a wraith screeched into being, Korvyn froze it midair, and Iron Bull hit it into the ground for it to shatter. Dorian held back and focused on the movements of the demons that birthed from the rift. There - a despair demon was moving slowly, as if underwater, for just a moment before exiting a space. Dorian hit a tree in that space with fire, the flame entering a radius in slow motion, hitting the target a few seconds later than it should have. “Stay away from the tree I marked!” he called, and ducked as a bloody limb flew over his head from the side of Bull’s axe. 

A rage demon moved toward Cullen and was stuck in the slow time anomaly. Cullen noticed, trying to use his sword on it on the outskirts, but the sword cut into the space like an oar through water. Dorian sent a bolt of lightening to strike it down. Cullen pulled back as the sparks slowly ignited and the streaks of electricity raced towards each other to a pulse. 

Cole had hidden in Bull’s shadow, striking at a terror demon that meant to attack from behind. Before it fell, Dorian bound the spirits of death to its form. It shambled, and a sudden flash from the rift had the demons dazed in unison - Korvyn’s work. Dorian moved sideways and the world went slow - he had made it into the radius of a fast spot.  _ Best use it to my advantage _ . He cast to hit demons with fire a pace before they moved, and the party started to clean up the battle quickly. Cullen had cut himself a decent area surrounded by dark blood where the bodies had dissolved, having let the demons come to him. Bull cut down one of the last demons, before another despair demon raced into Dorian’s fast space, moving just as quickly as him. Dorian hit it back from close range, and as he stepped backward from the time radius, a knife hit the eye socket of the demon. It fell with a screech and Dorian turned to see Cullen with one arm outstretched. The demon dissipated, leaving behind the knife with a familiar hilt. They all looked around at each other, breathing hard, and making sure no more foes remained. Dorian bent down to retrieve the knife. 

“You brought this?”

“Might as well,” Cullen replied, walking forward.

Dorian smiled and handed it to him. “I knew you’d get more use out of it than me. I’m glad it’s promoted from opening letters.”

Korvyn held out his hand to grapple with the anchor’s power, taking a breath as if to brace himself. He held his own wrist as his left hand shook, the anchor tying to the rift with incredible power. The green turned white and gave its own brief screech of energy as the rift burst, then collapsed in on itself, folding away back into the Fade. The movement of battle almost made the following silence strange. Korvyn habitually flexed his hand with a grimace. 

“You alright, boss?” Iron Bull asked. 

“It was just stronger than usual to close,”  Korvyn started, panting a little. “The demons weren’t unusual, but the rift itself. . .Dorian,” Dorian turned after waving his hand over the former time radius, making sure that it was back to normal. “Any clue what that was?”

“I’m sure you recognize it - temporal displacement.”

“Yeah, but why?”

“Left over from Alexius’ travels, I wouldn’t wonder.”

“But that was months ago. . .”

“Yes,” he pondered, surveying the area, “but this rift was never closed; the distortion never fixed. There’s a lot of left-over consequences of what Alexius has done, and we can only hope that rifts are  _ all _ we have to deal with.” They started moving back away from the area, towards the Avaar statue and their horses. “Closing the Breach must have left it stranded but proximity left it nubile. If this one made it, then there will yet be rifts in Ferelden to be discovered, and you’ll get to do the delightful housekeeping.” Even as they spoke, sound started to return to the area. A thrush flew down to watch them, and the buzzing of insects livened the greenery. 

“How does that all work, by the way?” Korvyn asked. They all moved onto their horses and the path was then easy to find, the bent grass leading them on. “You’re a necromancer but you’re a time mage? They seem like two very different fields.”

“‘Time mage;’ I like the ring of that,” Dorian said, smiling. “I studied the relativity of dimensions under Alexius - which is what we’ve been calling ‘time magic.’ Anyone who works with spirits, like spellbinders and necromancers, are dealing with drawing creatures from one plane, like the Fade, into the next. Vivienne or Solas could tell you the same thing - It’s more abstract for basic magic, but knowing how things move between planes is just the foundation of what I studied. As for necromancy, there’s no official title under it except  _ Mortalitasi,  _ which I focused on but did not pursue as an earnest title - Can you imagine? Too entrenched in Nevarran stereotypes and political parties. They’d think I was some death-obsessed embalmer.”

“Yeah, you just make corpses walk instead,” Iron Bull grinned.

“I would have had it attributed as a skill to my title of Senior Enchanter at Minrathous, but Alexius’ circumstances stalled me.” 

“Oh,” Korvyn turned to look at him. “I always forget how things work in Tevinter Circles. I never even bothered to make it to Enchanter. I bet it’s rigorous to move higher.”

“Very. But my studies with Alexius were too confidential to attribute anyway, despite how esoteric the magic at the Minrathous Circle usually is. It used to be the temple to the Dragon of Mystery, after all.”

“So it’s possible to go back in time, but it rips things apart, like those rifts?”

“Much more devastating than that, I assure you. But as it is, it’s impossible to move  _ backward _ in time, which I’ve told Alexius many times, because it could create a paradox.”

“But  _ we _ went back in time!”

“Not exactly,” Dorian attempted. He wasn’t sure how he would compress years of study into an explanation. “When the amulet was used, it took us to another plane - another timeline - in which we had disappeared because of its use. We went forward on  _ that _ plane, but it was also the result of just one of  _ many _ possibilities - a time divergence. When we left that plane, we were not moving backward in time, but amputating an entire alternate reality and returning to the original timeline to which we and the amulet belonged which had not advanced.”

Korvyn squinted his eyes as if thinking, but Bull just said “I’m sorry you asked.”

“You’re as confused as I am,” Cullen confessed.

“We found letters on that timeline about your assault on the castle, by the way,” Dorian said, turning to Cullen. “You knew it was fruitless, yet your honor kept trying to rescue us. Quite admirable.” Cullen colored and twisted his mouth somewhat in embarrassment. Bull made a bored jerking off motion behind him which Dorian ignored.

Korvyn soldiered on trying to understand. “But the letters also said Alexius couldn’t go back  _ before _ the Breach happened - so it  _ was _ possible to see timelines before then.”

“The only thing I can think of was that there was some way to view the past without  tampering with it, or he could return to different time divergences, creating new timelines. Punching a hole through the fabric of reality was already unravelling our present, but I imagine the universe has more placeholders than that to ensure it doesn’t fall in on itself.”

“So each time the amulet was used, it created a divergence which could be retraced. The hour you spent on that spell in the ‘red lyrium’ timeline was tying us back.” Korvyn said.

“A spell - tied to the amulet - that was tied to the proximity of the Breach?” Cullen added. 

“Yes, good! Of course, it was limited by its range, otherwise Alexius would have done all of this safely from Tevinter. He had to move closer to the source of power. Before the Breach, there wasn’t enough magical power to activate this traveling through planes.The amulet itself was a locus from one diverged plane to an original timeline, but Alexius hadn’t anticipated that side-effect.”

“And it enabled the gate between planes, Professor Pavus?” Korvyn asked.

“Don’t give me cheek,  _ young Trevelyan _ . The amulet originally was created to activate stability for the bridge - we called them “bridges” for teleporting. Bridges are normally very small, very quick, and within close range. Of course, since ancient Magisters were able to transport to the Fade before - at the great expense of many lives and blood magic - Alexius believed a bridge could also connect two very remote points to reduce distance - including through time.”

“I mean, it’s not a bad theory,” Iron Bull added. “But this is why no one trusts Tevinter.”

“With the power of the Breach he was able to travel quickly, like walking into Redcliff to usurp the Mage Rebellion right from under you. But when it comes to time, you can’t move backwards, you can move forward.”

“Doesn’t that suppose that there’s some predestined fate that you’ll walk into?” Korvyn asked, ever the diligent student. 

“Not at all. Take those strange areas around the rift where time moved quickly or slowly. In the area where it was fast, the rest of the world moved slowly. So, if I stayed in that fast area for a week, the rest of the world would probably have advanced by a month. See? Not practical, but it is time travel. I’ve experimented in replicating it.”

“So your skills are toe-to-toe with a Magister?” Cullen asked.

“I, ah. Well.” Dorian hadn’t thought about it like that before. Korvyn turned to see how he would handle this comment, but Dorian didn’t have it in him to boast at such genuine approval. “I had help from the Inquisitor, of course.”

“If you want that Senior Enchanter title, the Inquisition could grant you one. You’ve more than earned it,” Cullen said. 

Dorian was stricken with the sudden offer. “That’s very kind, but I’m sure it would be void in Tevinter - in Ferelden now too, considering all mages are considered apostates. Besides, I’d want to wipe the smug looks off the judgement panel’s faces by myself. Pride, you know.”

Cullen gave a small chuckle. “I know.” They rode on in companionable silence, and Dorian took that time to ride beside him. Offering Dorian the title of Senior Enchanter was a nice gesture. He hadn’t advanced despite his hard work and scorned the Magisterium, but it did give him pause to think he could give them a run for their money. In a time of life or death it was something small and superfluous, but Cullen saw that it was something important to Dorian. He had thought the trip with Cullen along would be more entertaining, but as they rode beside each other in other company, he was missing being able to speak with him one on one. 

“What is it?” Cullen asked.

“What is what?”

“You're thinking about something.”

“I’m always thinking.”

“Seems like you never stop.” And why did he have to smile at him like that? A flash of teeth and the slightest shake of the head like they were in on a secret joke. Dorian had become accustomed to being candid around Cullen, but he couldn’t maintain that while they were around other people, and he wondered if it would be tricky trying to keep Cullen close without obvious favoritism. He hated to admit it, but he had hoarded Cullen to himself when it came to his free time, and now that he saw their Commander being easily accepted into their group, he knew it was good for him to be social. He wondered if he had craved it, as Dorian had, to find affirmation and even arguments from people who gave a damn; to mingle not because you worked together, or to socially climb, but because you genuinely liked each other’s company. Once you found people like that, it became addictive in its own way. There was that slight jealousy slinking in as it had when the Knight Captains had taken up Cullen’s time, but it wasn’t Dorian’s to monopolize. Maybe it would be helpful for Cullen to get outside of his head and see that there was a place for him besides being the Commander, and other friends could step in with support where Dorian couldn’t provide it. Maker knows, there were a  _ lot _ of things Dorian was willing to provide, but maybe there was also too much he couldn’t offer.

 

//

 

They made it to an overcast Jader as the day came to a close in time to grab some rooms. It was strangely between being either a small city or large town, but it had the usual machinations of an active port. Some harbor bells were still ringing, the streets were perpetually wet and filled with the empty crates that would be filled the next morning, and the sharp smell of salt was inescapable. The frigid wind coming off the sea blew over the town, giving everything a slight layer of frost.

“Ah, I love the sea air. I miss hearing the waves at Ostwick,” Korvyn sighed happily. He pulled layers of gloves over his hand so the anchor wouldn’t shine out. He turned to his companions. “None of you get seasick, right?” Cole said nothing, Iron Bull shook his head, and Dorian and Cullen stood stony-faced. Dorian had known this would happen, of course, and since he had never felt so sick in his life as when he crossed the Waking Sea, he had stocked up on remedies. Herbs to chew on, herbal tea, a sleeping draught, and even a strange, tight stone bracelet that one of the healers had sworn by; something about pressure on the wrist helping with nausea. He looked to Cullen who looked shades paler. Well, they could share. “Leliana booked the fastest passenger ship at 10 knots! Can you believe it? It normally takes two to three days, but if we leave at dawn, we should be at Val Chevin by the following daybreak.” 

When they tucked away at an inn, Dorian was quick to leave the common room so Cullen could mingle with the others. A strange melancholy was setting in. He wanted affection any way he could get it, even if it was through small touches and affirming jests. The simplest way to hide a secret, he reasoned, was to tell it out in the open as a joke, but the joke could only go so far before it became a little painful. It was common knowledge with the inner circle that Dorian was open to finding a playful lover, but at least it seemed like only Varric and Iron Bull laughed at implications it became with the time he spent around their uptight Commander. They knew and Dorian knew that it was not a course of action to take seriously. Bull  _ had _ offered his own company, but now Dorian had these itchy attachments to Cullen; and despite outside appearances, they did have have an affinity they didn’t have with the others, even if it was platonic. He would take what he could; touches, laughs, secrets, but Dorian knew he had to also loosen his grip. He was going to hurt whenever the Inquisition did what they had to do and disbanded. He had very few people in the world. At least, he reasoned, it meant he was free to do what he wanted. 

Mornings at Skyhold were cold in a way that stole your breath, but in Jader, the morning was cold with heavy mist and cutting winds. The morning to leave, they were all bundled up in their scarves and furs (even Iron Bull, at the insistence of Korvyn who said his chest could put an eye out) and packed away their usual armor to be more anonymous. With their group, they needed all the help they could get. Dorian wasn’t too bothered, as he still cut a handsome figure of a noble in a high-collared black jacket and scarf. At daybreak, the ship was loaded and off. Chunks of ice sloshed against the rough beach, and Dorian took no time in waiting to chew on the Dragonthorn root and handed some to Cullen. Their Commander was still in dark maroon, but he wore it on a modest Ferelden cloak without shining armor. He shoved the piece of root to the back of his mouth and made a face at the taste. 

“I know,” Dorian said, breathing out puffs of white.“But better to look like bovine chewing on herbs than to be losing one’s stomach overboard.”  

The sailing wasn’t particularly rough in the first twenty minutes, and the winds were refreshing. The party watched the sun rise on the horizon, and as they made their way from shore, the fog cleared and the black water became splashes of gold in the morning light. They stood on one side to soak up any warmth they could.

Dorian turned to Cullen as he was taking a deep breath. “Are you nervous?”

“I’m anxious to get it over with.” 

“You seem to be handling the waves well enough.”

“That’s not really what I meant.”

Ah. But they were not to speak of the mission in a public space. “Just old acquaintances, then?” Dorian understood that Samson was someone Cullen knew personally, but he didn’t speak much about it.

“It will be difficult for you and Korvyn, especially.”

“Well, we’ll see won’t we?”

“You’re not concerned?”

“Of course I am,” Dorian said. Cullen had earned his honesty. “I just have to prepare for anything. . . More than anyone, you probably know not to mistake my tone for flippancy.” Dorian rolled his shoulders, and Cullen looked back to him to catch his gaze. The look on his face was hesitant, but he seemed to accept Dorian’s words. Without the massive fur cloak he usually wore, the freezing wind blew his hair every direction and chilled his nose and ears into a delightful pink, but Dorian found that he was quite a portrait in the golden light. It almost made his amber eyes shine.

Cullen spared him a grin. “I had expected you to be missing Skyhold by now.”

“Who’s to say I’m not? A warm fire, a cozy bed,” he sighed. 

“But you would have missed this,” Cullen said, turning his face back to the warmth of the sunrise.

“And that’s why I’m here.” Dorian leaned his hands onto the railing. “I ask the same of you.”

“I love being out here,” He smiled. “Even out at sea, for what it’s worth. I’ve been inside stone walls for so long. . . yesterday I heard birds I hadn’t recognized since I was a boy.” 

“It’s a shame this is the only way you’ve been able to get out.”

Cullen thought on that comment for a while, staring out into the waters. “Why  _ did _ you want to come out here, Dorian?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You skip out on places all of the time. The Fallow Mire and the Storm Coast. . . It’s only at Korvyn’s request that you go anywhere you don’t like.” He leaned forward on the railing as well. “Cassandra was supposed to have gone with us.”

“Is that what you would have preferred?”

“What I prefer doesn’t matter.” He was getting better at deflecting. Dorian’s fault. What did he want him to say? That he didn’t want to be at Skyhold without him there? That he couldn’t stand the thought of him battling while Dorian had to sit out? He had earned some of Dorian’s truth, but not the whole of it. No one got that honor.

“If you must know . . .you need space away from Jim. He’s in love.” Cullen looked to the sky in exasperation, but he suppressed a grin. He was always amused at Dorian’s pretend irrational feud with his recruit. “It’s unhealthy. You know Korvyn would look down on that fraternization.”

“You’re terrible.”

“I know it’s a hard truth. You have to let him do his job.”

“You really can’t stand having a serious conversation.”

“And why would I keep you brooding?” 

Cullen rubbed his gloved hands over his eyes. “Serves me right for not learning.” 

Dorian looked forward as he said, “I wanted to help you, and I will. With or without what  _ you _ think is best for me. Satisfied?”

Cullen gave him a steadied look before adding, “Should have taken a mabari,” and laughed at Dorian’s expression of distaste.

  
  


//

The initial sourness of the herb Dorian had given him had worn off, and Cullen was trying to get as much air as he could with the other passengers. There were many types of people with them, most of them lower nobles or merchants - people wealthy enough to afford fast travel, but not too dignified to “slum it” on a humble ship. The ride out had been favorable, but he wasn’t sure how long it would last. With one moon up, the water would get choppy, but if both moons rose, it was going to be a hard ride through the waves. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been keeping track of the lunar cycles. 

“Do you think we’ll see any dolphins?” Cole asked.

“I don’t think so,” Cullen replied. “I thought I heard that they move to warmer waters in the winter.”

“Helisma had seen them as a girl and described them to me,” Cole said. “The other girl you know, Robin,”

“You speak with her?”

“Yes. She found an orange cat in the room behind the Tavern. But she doesn’t remember me well.” As Cole finished that thought, he whipped his head around and stared at the deck as if looking through the floorboards. Something was up. “The Iron Bull wants us to meet him in the cargo hold.”

Without asking questions, Cullen immediately caught Korvyn’s eye and nodded to follow. Dorian noticed their movements and hung back to follow in a moment later. Below the hold, the cargo was usually locked, but they found Iron Bull beside it, opening the hatch for all of them to quickly slip in unseen. It was dark, and Dorian supplied veilfire for light. They were cramped in with luggage, chests, and old rope.

“Hey boss,” Iron Bull greeted him casually, as soon as the hatch closed. “Some Venatori followed us onto the ship.”

“What?” Korvyn asked. “How do you know?”

“Because one just tried to attack me, so I snapped his neck and threw him overboard.”

“And I never even heard a splash,” Dorian said, impressed.

“Dorian-” Korvyn scolded but interrupted himself. “If other parties know we’re making our way north, if it isn’t Corypheus’ guys already-”

“They could know we’re coming,” Cullen interjected. “Which compromises the mission.”

“He was working alone?” Korvyn asked Bull

“I didn’t notice any other mage-types, but I’ll double check. He’d probably have someone waiting in Val Chevin for news - or his disappearance.” 

“Any ravens on board when we left?” Cullen asked him.   
“Just the two that are still there. He was jumpy. I saw the lock disturbed, asked a few questions, and then the confrontation.”

“Did you have to kill the man? We could have used him for information. Or barter,” Dorian said. “We’re lucky that no one saw you do it.”

“There was just an address in his pocket. Looks like west Jader.”

“Apothecary district,” Cullen said, inspecting the parchment. “He was probably picking up a lyrium draught. As a foreigner, he would need a place for it, and in Jader there are a lot of shops that would sell to a mage without asking questions - That isn’t anything unusual; he wouldn’t keep something incriminating on his person.” 

Korvyn rubbed the scruff on his jaw, unsure. “Cole?”

“ _ Thrashing; a fish out of water. Struggling, suffocating, snap. So many regrets. _ ”

“Before that part,” Iron Bull said.

“ _ Stranded, separated. _ He wanted to show them he could be trusted again.”

“So he was an outcast,”  Korvyn said. “Desperate to prove himself. What should we do? Hunt down whoever is waiting for him in Val Chevin? Or follow them maybe?” Korvyn looked to his adviser for some sort of confirmation.

Cullen let his gaze bore into the distance as his mind put pieces together. He could almost imagine the war table in front of him in the blue light. They could handle this quickly. “Dorian, you’re good with a quill.”

“That I am.”

“Based on the handwriting of the address, you could forge a letter in Tevene. He was determined for approval, so the person waiting for him in Val Chevin will be impatient; maybe thinks he’s a waste of time. Make it sound like he lost his lead in the letter, but should be given a second-chance; that the party might be moving west to Val Royeaux. We release the raven that was no doubt his.”

“I like it; Adding in the appropriate amount of anxious sycophancy that the Venatori love.” 

“If there’s someone in Val Chevin, won’t they recognize us at port?”

“Only if they haven’t moved out on the given information. If that’s the case,” Cullen looked up. “Cole can let us know who it it.”

Cole smiled. “Yes, I can help.”

“The northern scouts will need to pull out,” Iron Bull said.

“Should we risk being that open?” Korvyn asked.

“They can stay. If Venatori or Samson’s Templars already know about our scouts, then it would be more suspicious if they moved; they’d expect us arriving later. We know about their posts and they know ours. Let’s leave it at that,” Cullen replied. “We may have to avoid all scout camps, since we don’t know which are observed.”

The others sighed in unison. Camps came with open fires, extra supplies, decent beds, and meals they didn’t have to make. “How will we navigate through the terrain without scouts?” Dorian asked.

Cullen thought for only a few seconds before looking up. “Lieutenant Lavellan’s treaty.”

“The Dalish?”

“Clan Lavellan worked with Clan Athimen who are active in the area. They’re a large group; not to be intimidated.”

“And if they refuse?” Bull grunted. 

“We’ll have to travel longer and strike from the east.”

“Lovely. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” 

Cullen spread out his hands. “It’s what I have. I’ll try to think of alternates, but-”

“No, it’s a decent plan,” Korvyn said.

“Especially on such short notice,” Dorian said, glancing at him with approval.

 

They released the raven with Dorian’s forged letter, Cole repaired the lock, and Iron Bull used his Ben-Hassrath eye to see if other passengers were up to anything suspicious. They were - there was a dracolisk smuggler, an ex-templar in casual clothes, a youth running away from home  - but all people with their own agenda and not threatening to the Inquisition. It was then that Cullen had to move below deck. Ages ago, when Dorian and Iron Bull had said that lyrium had a smell, he hadn’t known what they meant; only that it was something they perceived as being almost absent on him. But as he worked with his ex-Templar recruits, met with the Knight-Captains, saw the mages sip at Lyrium potions, he could smell it then with every craving. Sharp and tangy and a sign of comfort. As they traveled, he hadn’t noticed the absence of the scent until Iron Bull pointed out the ex-Templar on the ship, and as she walked past him it hit like an arrow. His head went spinning and tried to casually retreat downstairs.

He found a cot in a corner that used to be a shelf for transport, took off his cloak, and took a moment to breathe. The people around him minded their own business; having quiet conversations, sleeping, reading, and a few trying to ride out seasickness with the sour scent of dragonthorn root and their heads between their knees to counter nausea. Cullen tried to stay out of his own head, and it was a difficult business. He tried to think of those books he’d read in the Circle Tower, the fields outside Honnleath, his jokes with Dorian; something pleasant to turn a distraction. If only there was work to be done, papers to file. Something. Anything. The eyes of Cole were on him somewhere in the shadows, but he retreated.

Cullen sat hunched over. He had no cameo of Andraste, but he did have an old coin that his brother had given him for luck before he left for Templar training. One side was lumpy and almost featureless from the multiple times he had rubbed his thumb over it. He needed something to keep him focused.  _ Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Take me to rest in the warmest places. _ He could focus on what he would be doing in the future, away from lyrium, away from the waves. On the shore and racing towards Samson’s hideaway.  _ Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the Light. I shall weather the storm. I shall endure. _

The confident step of Dorian’s boots moved below deck, and for the briefest moment, Cullen wondered if Andraste sent him there, but dismissed it as the wish of someone worthier. He hid his coin away.

“I knew you’d be here somewhere. Foxmint tea?” Dorian was beautifully windswept. His hair was in messy strands from the sea air and his stubble defined the angles of his face. In his hand was a tin cup of tea that he held carefully to keep from spilling. Cullen accepted it, and sat up straighter in the dim lantern-light. “Can I join you in your secret club then, here in the dark?” He asked. Cullen gestured, and Dorian sat against a crate opposite where Cullen sat, quite close. Cullen looked at the tea, warm but not steaming, and took a few seconds to down the whole cup and place it aside. “You certainly always have a healthy appetite.”

“If you want to call it that. Did you get enough fresh air?”

“Didn’t you know? I love sitting in cramped, dark corners of a dripping ship.” Maker, but they were close enough to almost bump knees. The lamplight reflected in his grey, black-rimmed eyes. “Just as well, all the wind in my ears was threatening to give me a headache. I thought I’d come bother you.” He pulled off his scarf and Cullen tried not to stare at his neck. He could feel himself breaking into another sweat. 

“You never bother me, Dorian.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” he said it with a smile, but in the low light, he let it falter.

Cullen lowered his voice. “We haven’t been able to speak much lately.”

“Is this where you say you missed me?” Dorian leaned forward a little, but Cullen leaned back. 

“I only meant to ask about- after Redcliff. Have you been alright?”

Dorian paused, not even attempting a lie when he saw Cullen’s face. He gave a sigh and his shoulders relaxed, placing aside the facade of invulnerability for a moment. “As best I can, I suppose. I . . . might be encouraging a runaway on deck to stay away instead of returning home. Possibly not the best course of action, but I know a sliver of how she feels,” he said, smoothing back his hair. 

“Does she have someone?”

“A cousin in Charde,” he said. “She still had a swollen wrist from a beating. I healed it for her.” Cullen gave him a concerned look, but Dorian continued. “She told me her secret, I shared mine to help her. No one saw and I don’t regret it.”

“How did you get her to tell you?”

“Have you become so acclimated to my face that you forgot it was handsome?” He asked, almost offended.

Cullen gave a quick, nervous grin. “My apologies.”

“I know you’re not down here trying to sleep. You never let yourself relax.”

“Even this much time idle has been difficult.” Cullen attempted to uphold his smile, but it came out all nerves. “There’s someone with lyrium on this ship.”

“The ex-Templar?”

“I would very,  _ very _ much like to have it,” he confessed. It was almost pleading, and he felt shame making his heart pound, but his principles were slightly stronger. He knew if they were dealing with the might of Templars imbued with red lyrium, he could have the strength to take them down if he had his own cache of lyrium. Cullen didn’t want these thoughts and knew they were unhelpful and possibly false, but they persisted like a suggestion that was not his own. 

“You’re not worried that you might-?”

“No. Just agitated.” 

"Ah."

Cullen sighed. It was just another day of the Commander being sick, like usual. Cullen immediately felt exhausted with himself. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm handling it. I know it may sound strange, but if I don’t have a clear focus and many things to do, sometimes I have to fight to pay attention.” His hand rested securely on his neck. "Not an admirable trait, I know. Not being busy is . . . abnormal for me. When I was a – When I was with the Order, I had it more under control."

Dorian narrowed his eyes. "You mean because of lyrium."

"Lyrium made me–”  _ Better _ . He swallowed the word. “It made me efficient in many ways."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Cullen."

"If there were-"

"Listen to me," Dorian said. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Cullen exhaled with some disbelief and looked away. It was painful for Dorian to be this close and this kind. "You sound like Cassandra."

"High praise, coming from you."

Cullen moved his hands firmly on his own knees and spoke calmly. “I’ve no intention of going back to it willingly. I’ll do what the Inquisition needs, then I’ll accept whatever happens next.” Did he dare to tell Dorian that there was still a chance he may not survive without it? That he only needed to hold on long enough to enable the Inquisitor to do what he needed to do?

“Or you may yet have a future, which it seems you resist to even think about.”

“Dorian,” Cullen almost shook his head. “We’re at war. You understand what I mean.”

“Are you afraid of thinking about what you want?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“I’m not.” Dorian said, defiantly. “Honor and perseverance - it’s all very high brow. What about relying on sheer  _ nerve  _ to get things done? You’ve already stopped because you  _ want _ to be a better man.  _ Wanting _ is one of the best motivators to do anything.”

Cullen took a deep breath and sat up straighter. He looked Dorian in the face and felt the truth rushing out in honest appreciation. He wanted. “Dorian,” He could feel the heat rushing to his face. “Thank you. Out of all the friends I’ve ever had, you-”

Dorian rolled his head to the side. “Don’t get sentimental on me,”

“-you’ve been one of my best.” Perhaps it was too soft of a thing for Cullen to say; too unprofessional. “I mean it. If you ever need anything-” 

“Then I know the man to ask,” Dorian smiled. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. “This isn’t what I meant to talk about. I’ll handle whatever needs to be done, even if I have to take a moment to compose myself. I don’t want you to ever doubt that. Only. . . Do you ever feel like it’s too much to ask for a future?” 

“Strangely, I know exactly what you mean.” Cullen’s heart skipped as Dorian’s hand moved toward him. “Maker, you’re a mess of a man,” he sighed, as his thumb moved over his jaw for a moment, and his fingers slipped down to Cullen’s neck and shoulder. “But then again, so am I.” 

There was a pause between them of understanding, but Cullen mostly felt the buzzing of nerves. They were bent close, knees touching in the dim light with Dorian’s hand close enough to pull him in. He could only give a small, nervous laugh and say, “If those are our qualifications for getting things done, they’ll have to do.”

“Are you suggesting the Maker has a sense of humor?”

“If he didn’t, I probably wouldn’t have met you.” Dorian’s expression changed in a way he couldn't read and he leaned back a little, taking his hand with him. Cullen hurried to add, “Or any of the Inquisition, for that matter.”

“Our Commander is full of sincerity today. What was in that tea?” He wondered aloud with a chuckle, and Cullen could sense Dorian’s own nerves. They were supposed to be joking around and Cullen was making him uncomfortable.

He started to close himself off. He should just try to sleep the rest of the journey instead of embarrassing himself. “Maybe I should just-”

“You know,” Dorian started. “They might have some checkers down here.” He was trying to bring him back to the familiar. Cullen appreciated it, but could only shake his head. Dorian gave a noncommittal sigh and ruffled Cullen’s hair as he stood to leave. “I’ll alert you if there’s anything pressing,” he said, and made his way to the deck.

Cullen laid back down and threw an arm over his face. There was a pain in his stomach unrelated to the movement of the sea. This was getting beyond physical attraction now. After rough days, Dorian could walk into the room and Cullen could give a breath of relief at the respite he was given with his presence; while other days he felt normal until he saw him and became nothing but nerves. It should be one or the other, not both. The fact that Dorian sometimes lifted his mask to speak with him only spurred on his need to know more about him. Dorian was taught to keep so much of himself restrained; his kindness, his sympathy, his understanding. As his friend, Dorian offered genuine warmth, and Cullen was always looking for that honest smile. He almost found himself working for it. Thinking of his skin in the dark was not as gratifying as making him laugh where he could see it.  _ Don’t get sentimental. _ He felt perfectly foolish to admit that he was. It was dangerous territory. The waves moved up, down, up, down. The weight of what they still needed to accomplish, however, kept him sober. They still had so much work to do; The thousands pledging themselves to do what they could and the thousands who looked to them to keep their families safe; The friends who had died for this cause already, believing that their lives were a worthy trade.  _ Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. _

  
  


Dorian wrapped the thick scarf over his head like a hood to keep the wind out. It had been a long day of chatting and doing very little, and he would be grateful for it to hurry up to a close. He didn’t particularly want to return to the deck, but he knew he had to leave before he did anything else as stupid as reaching for their Commander’s face. It was ridiculously impulsive, and it was on his lips to apologize, but Cullen hadn’t seemed to mind. It was almost as if he was warming up to his small touches here and there, but Dorian wasn't sure what to make of it. The memory of running hands through his curls sprung up, and once again he had to berate himself like a child.  _ We don’t touch people without their permission, Dorian _ . Well, Cullen had admitted that Dorian was one of his best friends. Something about that stoked some embers in him where he thought there was only cold. Was it bad to want to bite the lip of a best friend? Probably. Dorian could see it now; it was only a matter of time before he did something rudely inappropriate, went a step too far, or came off as predatory rather than comforting. He knew how to placate, to hurt, to defend with words. He didn’t know how to deal with people’s fragile emotions and was sure he would put his foot right in it. He had told himself to take a step back, and there he went huddling in the dark with Cullen to share secret thoughts and- Maker he was an idiot. Catching up on sleep with nothing better to do suddenly seemed like a decent idea. 

After several minutes, he went back down to the hold and saw Korvyn relaxing on a cot. Dorian downed a sleeping draught, got comfortable in a hammock nearby, and with the rocking of the rope, he was out before he knew it.

When they reached Val Chevin the next morning, there was the usual chaos of a harbor that included workers, sailors, urchins, thieves, and callers to persuade travelers to come to their tavern. When Cullen emerged, Iron Bull looked at him to say “Huh. Varric’s nickname really was accurate.” The Commander tried to immediately flatten his hair, but it was little use in the humid sea air. There was no sign of a Venatori agent and they counted themselves lucky for the time being. It was a richer city as they moved through it, but they left through the west gate for transients to avoid any main roads and draw attention. Val Chevin was a popular stop before travel to Val Royeaux, and the outside gate was crowded with carriages and people for hire which worked as excellent cover. On the skirts of the alienage was a stable for more common folk who didn’t mind mixing with the elven population, and they discretely found an elven man holding horses for them. 

They could finally start moving north, and were able to change into their protective armor. The agricultural fields turned to thick, frosty woods quickly. Korvyn knew what signals to look for as they advanced through the forests, and the signs of the Dalish were nowhere yet everywhere. There were no footprints nor fire marks - like a land untouched; yet Korvyn would inspect a large rock to find a rune on the bottom, pointing a traveler farther inward. Dalish characteristically moved all over the countries, though Clan Athimen had become a strong amalgamation of tribes in northern Orlais that allied together, which had Val Royeaux clutching its pearls. While Orlais had its civil war in the south, they held peace in the northern region and were determined to keep it that way with their large numbers and inscrutable sense of power in the unmanned territory. The longer the Dalish stayed, the better they knew the land and could maneuver through it to cut down any troops of chevaliers that nervous nobles might have sent into the woods. While the elves heightened their nerves, they had to concede that their stable presence enabled good merchantry so there was no choice but to tolerate them. It was not difficult land, but monotonous and easy to be turned around. It was a younger, more coniferous version of the Emerald Graves, stark and grey from the winter winds with only a slight dusting of snow.

The party knew they had entered Dalish territory when a quick whistle caught their attention, and a lone elven woman lounged on a tree branch three stories from the ground. 

“Hail. You don’t look like lost travelers,” she said. 

“Not this far,” Korvyn said, “But we will be soon.”

“You mean to look for my Clan?”

“Yes; not for trade, but maybe for a deal.” She considered them as if to ponder whether they were worth her time. “With regards from Clan Lavellan and the Inquisition,” Korvyn added. 

She raised her eyebrows and seconds later several other elves emerged from the brush. The party was surrounded, but the Dalish stood down, casually regarding them. Cole was hidden in case they needed an out. One man spoke up, dressed in a way that established some rank. “Inquisition? Then that mark on your hand makes you their leader?”

“Yes, though I would ask no more from you then to direct us.”

He had a keen observance over all of them. “You would have this forest to provide cover for you? Is the Inquisition not then leading some foe to us?” Straight to the point.

“We’re expected to be elsewhere. Right now, we move undercover and we can continue to do so if you allow it.”

“In good faith?”

“If you’ve heard of how we’ve helped Clan Lavellan, then you know we can provide aid at a future time if you need it.” Korvyn gestured to the party behind him. “We’re not bad allies to have.” It was an understatement, and the man knew it. He had a calm demeanor and quietly gestured with his head. Korvyn followed him, the party and elven archers falling into step with them. 

The mood of the scouts was not tense, but relaxed, and they soon came upon a Fen’Harel statue. The scout-leader sat down with a few other scouts to discuss plans with Korvyn and Cullen. The others had to hang back, and Dorian wondered for a moment why this young elf made plans without his Keeper’s approval, before realizing that, young as he was, he might be the Keeper of this large clan and had wanted to observe these strangers for himself. Perhaps he and Korvyn would see eye-to-eye.  

There were several minutes of shifting weight from foot to foot and he was staring at Cullen’s back when he heard a deep voice ask, “So. Think you have a chance?”

Dorian knew he wasn’t asking about the mission, and bristled at Iron Bull’s question. “Nosy, are we?”

“I could help.”

“No, you can’t; And now is really not the time.” He was speaking with boredom to veil his stress, but it was poking through. “Varric warned me you might get involved. Is there money in it for you?”

“Well, yeah,” he admitted, and Dorian tsked. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking of your interests too.”

“You can’t help.”

“You know I can read people.”

That was true. Dorian had skill in pulling information from words, but Iron Bull knew gestures and personalities from simple mannerisms. “. . .And?” Dorian asked, wondering if he’d regret it.

“Your motives are pretty obvious, but those honest Ferelden types aren’t really like us; don’t know what to make of something casual between friends. Taking your time to hang back makes sense.” As Korvyn and the Commander spoke with the scouts, their fingers moved easily over the map, planning a route. “Cullen’s different though. He always has five back-up plans and is prepared for all of them to fail, which would probably extend to relationships. I don’t think even he knows what he wants.” 

Dorian sighed. “It was a nice try, but that’s not helpful.”

“Not without the right push.”

Dorian thought about what he had said to Varric in the Exalted Plains; how he wouldn’t mind being an experiment with Cullen. But now he wondered if that was still true.  _ I'd say he's more susceptible than you'd think, _ Varric had said. If Cullen showed interest, Dorian would probably take a bite, but even then, he wouldn’t be that person to try and compromise Cullen’s principles just to fuck around. Of course he respected the decision to prioritize work, especially with so much at stake. Cullen was probably destined to become some sort of war hero with an adorable wife and ten children; A man for the history books. As a Tevinter, Dorian would probably be written out of history if they could help it, especially in his family tree.

Iron Bull took his silence for the doubt that it was. “No? Maybe I could give it shot.”

“I know what you’re trying to do. His only lover is his writing desk.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants, but have you seen the restraint in his swing? There’s a lot of built up tension. If only he let me help him out there.” Dorian gave a light-hearted scoff. Now Bull was just winding him up. “Anything you want to know about that, by the way?”

“About what, exactly?”

Iron Bull took his finger a traced a line down his own rib. “He has a scar right here.”

“That’s rather unnecessary.” Dorian cracked his neck to the side to feign disinterest, but flicked his eyes to find Cullen across the camp as they pored over the map. He looked back to Iron Bull, who was looking smug. The fighters had shared rooms together, while the mages had theirs. Cole, of course, had no need to sleep, but Iron Bull would know these intricacies. 

Dorian coughed. “Well, ah,”

“He’s pretty well built, but not as narrow as you; Made from swinging a sword. There’s some freckles on his shoulders. On the small of his back, he has dimples.”

“ _ Shit _ .”

“Bull, Dorian,” Korvyn called to them and gestured to start moving on a slight trail. “We’ll have two scouts guide us north.” 

He felt a bit guilty when Cullen started walking over to join them after that cruel and beautiful image. Iron Bull flashed him a grin when he got up to go to Korvyn. Oh, Bull was terrible sometimes, but Dorian had to appreciate him for it. There must be money in it for him indeed.

“That went smoothly,” Cullen told him. “Our alliance will have to be secret until we’re out of Orlais, but it could be beneficial for both of our sides.”

“Onward and forward.”

  
The party followed the lithe scout as another trailed behind; moving over a river, up a few ledges, until they reached the end of the tree line after most of a day’s trek. They wished each other well and parted ways, and after roughing another night without fire or Inquisition camps, they kept moving from small groves to seas of golden grass, and the plains began to stretch out.    
Finally, they saw the tall Tevinter architecture of the Shrine of Dumat. It was when they prepared themselves to move towards it that it started burning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> -The whole time displacement thing always messed me up, so of course I have to ramble about it through Dorian. I don’t know much about quantum physics but I’m trying to explain time travel without talking about gravity or other modern terms. Dorian calls the portals “bridges” in homage to the theory of Einstein-Rosen bridges, or, as we know them, “wormholes.” If only they knew about Eluvians.  
> -It’s canon that Dorian didn’t get his title of Senior Enchanter because he had to help a grieving Alexius. I imagine in Tevinter, achieving the title is a lot like graduate school, working with a specialization as well as focusing on breadth of field. Since Dorian was getting his at Minrathous, it would be like attending Oxford or Cambridge. As First Enchanter, Vivienne, of course, has her ivy-league phd. I’m also ret-conning a little b/c I think I may have said Korvyn was an Enchanter in previous chapters when he actually isn’t (I didn’t know Enchanter was a title; I thought it was another word for mage).  
> -idk the nautical miles from Jader to Val Chevin, but 10 knots was relatively fast in the 17th century. The prayers Cullen uses are from the Chant of Light: Transfigurations 12 and Trials 1 (TWoT v.II).  
> -Please note, I am not paralleling lyrium to medication here; After having power like that for over a decade, Cullen would naturally think lyrium made him better in all ways because his powers declined after no longer taking it. This, of course, is a result of withdrawal on the entire body, rather than just the Templar powers leaving.


	14. Where There's Smoke, There's Fire

Cullen remembered the day that it happened. 

After all, he and Samson had shared quarters long before he had any position within the tower. They shared it with two other Templars in their humid, stone-walled room draped with red banners. The room itself was a sanctuary away from the duties of the tower; the one place where they didn’t have to think about the potential demons that could awake at any moment - but one didn’t get to be there more than the allotted time. Surveillance and caution was the stark reality at the Gallows; a heightened state of nerves that one woke to every day out of the comfort of sleep. Lyrium made it bearable; it helped to soften feelings of anxiety into those of calm, keen awareness. Unusual things happened all of the time. They knew when to ask about it and when to stay discrete. They knew what to watch out for: Mages gathering outside of dorms and lessons, quick to turn away from their gaze; any movements that might indicate demon possession - even defeated behavior that might suggest they would give themselves over to a demon; to grab the wrist of any mage for inspection of cuts; when anything was ever too loud or too quiet. However, some “unusual” things were normal and expected not to be questioned: A mage turning up one day tranquil, the brand fresh and peeling; a Templar being immediately assigned from their usual post if they were questioning or indiscreet; a bed in the quarters stripped clean with all belongings gone; a howl in the streets outside of the Tower. If it was not your business, one didn’t ask, yet they stayed vigilant, always. 

When Samson hadn’t shown up to eat midday, of course the Templars noticed, but they said nothing to each other about it. It was considered one of those  _ discrete _ happenings. When those who boarded with Samson were called in for assembly, Cullen knew it was about to be something serious and unpleasant. Not all of the Templars were there, but all the superiors showed up for a decent judicial shaming. Samson stood before them a little worse for wear, but that may have been a lack of lyrium. 

When the charges were announced, Cullen was surprised but not much affected; It seemed a frivolous thing to do, but also brazen considering the Knight-Commander’s reputation. He imagined the same sort of gathering was happening with the mages as well, though theirs would end worse. Not his business. 

The Knight-Commander addressed the room rather than Samson as if he were not worth paying attention to, her armor glistening and heavy in its steps. “And are we to believe these were merely ‘letters of affection’ passed between mages? Of course, though against regulation, this kind of request would  _ seem _ simple,” She walked a steady pace in circle of Samson, looking at the Templars gathered who hung on her words. “ _ Any matter of information _ could have been passed through these letters. Information that could compromise security. Information that could be easily coded to share ideas of spellwork. . .  or spellbinding - Or any other desperate measure that a mage feels they might resort to due to ignorance.” Knight-Commander Meredith turned to her Knight-Captain to relay orders. “The mage will be made tranquil for corrupting the moral integrity of a Templar. His conspirer will be sought after for information tomorrow. Draw it up.”

“Yes, Commander.” The Knight-Captain immediately left.

Samson subtly shook his head, but she continued. “Obedience is more important than your personal judgments. When you try to coddle the mages like children, you risk the security of the whole Tower - of all your fellow Templars in arms and our other vulnerable wards. They suffer a terrible affliction and these rules are in place for a reason. Even if intentions may seem innocent, you’re putting  _ your judgment _ above all others who came before you.” Many other Templars nodded in agreement. Cullen nodded as well - mages couldn’t be trusted to know what was best for them. “When you self-righteously believe that your choices take precedence, you doubt your loyalty - you doubt this Order you have pledged yourself to. There is no place here for arrogantly deciding when your opinion is better than the Order’s decree. All it might take is one letter should, Maker forbid, what happened at Kinloch happen here.” There were murmurs of affirmation. Cullen had been watching the Knight-Commander, but didn’t turn away fast enough. She knew he had been there, and caught his eye. “Rutherford.”

“Knight-Commander.”

“You board with Samson and you knew nothing of this?”

Cullen was taken aback. “No, Knight-Commander.” She studied his face with a scrutiny that he would later recognize as an expression of paranoia quite familiar on her face. 

“Then you will oversee his expulsion. He is to be stripped of armor as well as rank. He will take his belongings and be gone from this Tower before the evening’s meal.”

At last, she turned to Samson’s sullen face and said a sentence so routine for her mouth that it had no pause or affectation: “Raleigh Samson, as Knight-Commander and sworn protector of the Chantry’s Templars, I relieve you of your duties under charges of conspiracy. May the Maker’s light guide you.”

She nodded to Cullen and the fellow boarders who now took responsibility of leading him away. Samson had his dignity about him and did not protest or complain; not as they lead him away, not as he packed his sparse belongings with his armor left on the bed. Looking back on it, Cullen wished he had felt anything resembling sympathy, but he hadn’t. He only knew that every man took responsibility for his actions and accepted that Samson had made his choice. Cullen had made his, and soon after he accelerated through the ranks on the hinges of blind obedience and prejudice. He hated to know how proficient he was at it and how he hadn’t been the one to question anything at all. 

Would any sympathy have changed Samson? Any pity or understanding? Or was regret and revenge too satisfying a motivator? They made their choices. They lived their choices. 

 

//

They made their way as quickly as they could to the Shrine of Dumat, but the flames rose quickly, blackening the winter sky above. It was a plot of chalky white in a field of dead grass, turning to greyed charcoal in the billowing smoke. There were no guards at the entrance; not even a door. The ruins of the shrine were gutted, with Templar banners hanging from jagged metal battlements. Supply crates were strewn, tents were overturned, and fire burned with abandon. 

The party held their ground a moment at the threshold, but no one came out to rush them. “You’d think Samson would let himself be known,” Korvyn said, catching his breath.

Cullen glanced around at the open courtyard with disappointment. “Maker, tell me he hasn’t fled. . .”

“This is recent; there will still be people here,” Iron Bull  said, surveying the destruction. 

He was right; a bestial groan was heard from the ramparts. Dorian cast Protection immediately and a fine layer of defense shimmered over them as Iron Bull and Cullen methodically charged. Monstrous Red Templars crashed forward, blood and limbs indecipherable from jagged crystal. Korvyn and Dorian were already casting before the warriors made contact, but the creatures shrugged off the attacks as they rushed in. They would expect no less from Samson’s own guards.

Iron Bull pulled one toward him with his grappling hook but its eyes were on Cullen. Cullen parried with his shield, the Templar punching so hard that a sharp crack of crystal was heard as the fist connected. The Templar’s crystal forearm shattered and fell off with a screech as Cullen thrust his blade into the underside of its jaw.    
“Nice, Cullen!” Iron Bull laughed as he was already moving on to the bigger targets by the inside chamber. Cole was quick as a breeze, cutting into the other Templar to clean up as they forged a way through the courtyard.

A ten foot monster of a Templar stood at the door; Iron Bull and Cullen faltered as it swung a massive arm to block the entrance inside. Cole and Cullen started in for its legs as Iron Bull tried to hack off the offending arm that struck the ground. It turned Dorian’s stomach to see scabbed skin stretched over the noxious red lyrium slick with blood and pus.

“Dorian - let’s flank the door!” Korvyn shouted over to him, and they fade-stepped inside right behind the monstrosity. Dorian cast an ice glyph under its feet to trap it as Korvyn used Fade magic to lob rocks at its head. It was tedious work to dodge and attack its tireless body.

“Feel like I’m mining a damn cave,” Bull grunted, pulling his axe from its crystalline neck as it finally fell. They moved inside to regroup, but the walls were climbing in flame. The ceiling was high and pocked with holes, so they didn’t have to fight fumes for air, but the heat was oppressive. Dorian immediately felt the stifling effect of massive red lyrium shards bursting from floor tiles, and he looked to Korvyn to see him wiping his forehead. 

“Alright, Cullen?” Dorian asked, looking over.    
Cullen already had sweat at his temple from battle but he looked pained. “It’s just very loud - the corrupted song. Let’s proceed. There’s going to be more of them.” 

“I’m taking him with us,” Dorian said of the massive Templar. It was a few seconds to the others, but Dorian compressed a lot into that slot of time. He tuned into the thinness of the Veil where spirits of death were clamoring over themselves to claw and stretch the membrane and look in at them.  _ Let me show you the path _ , he thought, reaching through the Veil. In the aftermath of purple smoke, their newly dead Red Templar ally trailed behind them into the next chamber. 

Cullen watched in either awe or disgust but the party advanced with a wary eye in every direction. Snarling dragon statues that were so rare outside of Tevinter flanked the columns around them, glaring down at the intruders. The heat and the lyrium was making the air thick in Dorian’s chest and his exposed skin was starting to itch in the orange glow. Between the crystals and flames, it was quickly becoming a fever on fire. Cole kept shooting glances at Korvyn who was holding himself together well. 

The inner chamber was a veritable coffin of red lyrium bursting from every surface. “There-” Korvyn said. A prone body rested on the other side of the room, but its protectors made themselves known. They were Templar rogues - “Shadows!” Cullen called out - and as soon as they were witnessed, they had vanished to attack. Korvyn and Dorian moved to stand back to back; mages would be the prime targets. Embers and ash fell down around them, and Korvyn shot up an additional Wall of Fire - bad call. The Shadow was there in a blink to slice at him. Korvyn dodged and the mages were side to side. Another was holding off Iron Bull and Cullen who just barely grazed off hits from its slashing speed. The lumbering, possessed Templar was cut down faster than the party had accomplished. Blow after blow had to be countered, and Dorian and Korvyn were easily set upon. Korvyn was forced to move to the side to avoid friendly fire; Cole moved by him and Bull couldn’t keep up. The Shadows were intentionally separating them with unmatched speed. 

The slight sound of movement was all that prepared Dorian as he swerved his staff upwards to stop a blow at his neck. Again it vanished - and was blocked just in time, as it slashed again and again. Dorian crooked a finger to send ice at its heels but it swerved away. Cullen noticed and fell back to come to his aid, but they were both worse for wear. He raised his blood-spattered shield as it set upon him, but the sharpened lyrium blades glinted off of it in a screech of metal. They needed to keep up; they needed more time -  _ Well, better time than ever _ . As the Shadow busied itself on Cullen, Dorian focused all that he could in the confidence that this would work - that the spell would manifest as he visualized what he knew about time magic, and the flow of time would slacken in his hands. He could feel it resisting, but Dorian knew the Fade would cooperate, however unwilling - he knew the science, he could command the Fade. Under a gold sigil, Dorian pulled time like taffy, stretching it to last and pushed the sphere of it around them. Their foe’s movement slowed instantly. The Shadow was mid-dash as if under water and Cullen looked to Dorian with only a moment of confusion before he seized his chance. As the Shadow moved back a slow arm to strike, Cullen moved forward to run his sword through its chest. He flung the body sideways and it crashed out of the time radius and into full motion, splaying across the floor. Dorian dispelled the time magic and took a shaky knee. They looked over to see that the other Shadow had been taken down, though their allies wore blood. There was a pause as they held their position, holding for any other threat. 

Korvyn released an uneven breath. “Alright?” he asked, to collective groans of assent. 

Cullen turned to Dorian quickly. “You did that?” he asked, winded.

He supposed he had. Dorian hadn’t had a chance to use time magic in battle yet, but it seemed to have worked gloriously, though formidable. It was dangerous, he knew, but they’d have to speculate later. 

Cullen offered a hand that Dorian took, but the Commander’s expression changed its priority as they moved forward to a man hunched over. The garish brand on his forehead marked him as tranquil - Maddox. But no sign of Samson. Iron Bull held out his arm to the others as Korvyn and Cullen moved quickly forward to speak to Maddox. He looked like he was on his way out. They exchanged few hushed words and Dorian chugged a lyrium potion to counteract the red crystal and fire around him that sapped his energy like a desert sun. He couldn’t hear what was being said, but Dorian wasn't sure what to make of the situation. He found the concept of Tranquility deplorable and was sympathetic to the fact that perhaps Maddox had no one else to care for his well-being. . . but how far does sympathy reach for someone who serves your enemy? Part of him was glad he wasn’t one who had to make such decisions. “He’s dead,” Cole said, and Cullen and Korvyn straightened up with sullen expressions. 

“They set fire to the place to destroy evidence and give Samson time to escape,” Korvyn said to the rest of them. “Let’s look around for anything that’s still useful; Anything for armor or enchantment - Quickly.” Most of the flames were already starting to put themselves out within the stone and tile ruins with little fuel to prolong them, but the lyrium’s overbearing pulse hung over them. As soon as they left the inner chamber, the subtle change was enough for Dorian to catch his breath. They rushed to each corner of the open rooms where everything had become black ash, edging away from towering scarlet crystals and bodies of the perished and slain. Korvyn found lyrium-forging implements of remarkable design, and Dorian told him so. While Maddox may have designed his own tools, they had confidence that Dagna could discover the secrets of its intricacies. Whatever Samson was up to with his armor, they at least had more to work with. It was no fool’s errand.

They made a brisk pace to get out of the shrine into the open air and the relief was immediate. “Maker, I can finally breathe,” Korvyn said, putting a hand to his forehead. 

“That was a bit more than I expected,” Dorian replied.   
Cullen caught up in stride beside them. “Samson’s resistance must be extraordinary,” He took a final look of the ruins behind him with a quiet scoff. “A dismal place to die; all for Samson to escape. He does command loyalty.” 

“Maddox respected him,” Korvyn said. “However misguided. It makes me wonder if it was a spot of humanity or resourcefulness for Samson. We should at least have his remains moved.”

Cullen was silent a beat. “Samson did his best for Maddox; we can do no less.” Dorian could see the strain on his face. Looking around at the mess, he was probably spinning some web of guilt inside himself.

“At least we fucked things up for him, even if they were tipped off somehow,” Bull said. 

“Do you think we were spotted?” Dorian asked.

“They have as many scouts out there as we do. Sure as shit wasn’t the Dalish.”

“We should follow him,” Korvyn said. They stood a moment at the Shrine’s gateway. “If Samson has escaped - what, an hour or so ago? - we might have a chance to catch up.”

Cullen shook his head. “He’ll have hideouts and reinforcement. Our main advantage was a surprise attack.”

“The smoke here can be seen for miles,” Dorian said. “We’re a beacon here for any Red Templars to see what’s going on and attack.”

“Yeah, but their General’s base is on fire,” Iron Bull replied. “They’re not going to be in a rush to be defeated by whatever happened here. They might observe from a distance to wait for orders.”

“So we might want to move on regardless.”

“Yes,” Cole added in. “The Veil is thin here.”

Korvyn and Dorian both paused to feel the flow of the Veil. “ _ Very _ thin,” Korvyn agreed. In retrospect it might have been why Dorian had been able to manipulate time. He had felt how close the death spirits were, but it was true; the Veil felt ragged. No doubt it came from a ancient scars of blood magic, reopened from the death, pain, and corruption happening from the Templars and red lyrium. They couldn’t sleep in proximity to it.

“If we keep moving, we’ll make it back to Dalish territory before nightfall,” Iron Bull suggested. 

“I guess we have to,” Korvyn concluded. He itched the back of neck and grimaced. “Shit, am I cut back there? I’m dripping something.” The “something” turned out to be a burst blister from the lyrium exposure and they departed immediately, though injured. They kept a wary eye out for anyone on the plains that might come to the signal of smoke, but as Iron Bull had said, if there anybody was there, they didn’t dare approach. 

It was twilight by the time they reached the treeline, and to their surprise, the elf scouts from before watched as they returned.    
“Causing trouble, Inquisition?” One asked.

“Stopping it, hopefully,” Korvyn replied. 

The scouts led them a little ways into a campsite they could use for the night. A few old tents were already generously propped up by the scouts, but it seemed to be a spot where people came and went so frequently that there was no need to set it down. It made Dorian think that it must not be Dalish, but a spot for traveling allies where the scouts often visited. The Dalish scouts didn’t stay for long. They were assured by Korvyn that they wouldn’t need to pass through the forest again, and would instead take the sturdier roads where they would meet up with their own scouts. It would be the last night roughing it. The scouts wished them well, vanishing into the dark with no need for light. Korvyn set up a roaring fire with the curling of his palm and sat down, then layed down, then splayed out in the dirt just to rest. Dorian got to work healing Iron Bull’s forehead and a massive bruise on Cullen’s forearm. 

They got up and down around the fire, making food, discussing possible next moves, and taking off wet armor. Dorian was only too happy to share mint water for everyone to wipe off their sweat and not smell like complete animals. The cold began to creep onto their backs, but away from the mountains in the northern plains of Orlais, it was not nearly as cold as Dorian had become accustomed to. Despite the frigid dark, he found that he was surprisingly relieved to just be alive, healthy, and sitting safely by a fire with people he trusted. Maker, he was almost going native. Horrid thought. 

Their voices quieted and Korvyn turned in, still nursing his own healing magic on his blistered skin. Cole hovered on the edge of the camp, humming a song that was stuck in someone's head. Normally they would put their armor back on in case of attack, but they were in well-protected territory now. As Dorian started to put things away for the following morning, he turned to see that Iron Bull had turned in as well to leave him with the Commander by the fire.  _ Sneaky Qunari _ .

Cullen was resting his eyes with his back against a large, felled log, ankles crossed as they warmed by the fire. They were both weary from the red lyrium, and though Dorian no longer felt nauseated, the feeling of being drained persisted. Perhaps he had overdone it with the time spell, but it had been perfectly worth it. There hadn’t been any distortion outside of his chosen sphere, so perhaps he could replicate it with no catastrophic backlash. It was worth trying again as long as the others didn’t give him too much grief about it. He took a flask of lyrium from his pouch and took a small sip that felt as soothing as any cup of tea. Dorian threw himself down next to Cullen, who glanced slightly at him. He was always far too pensive for his own good. They merely sat for a moment to collect their fuzzy thoughts when he turned to see Cullen, eyes dead on the flask.  
“Shit-” He pocketed it quickly. “Sorry about that. Rude of me. . .” 

“It’s nothing,” Cullen said quietly. The tang in its scent was probably enough to trigger a response. Cullen was staring at his lips wearily, and Dorian felt a little ashamed at how that gaze warmed the center of him. Cullen dragged his amber eyes away from Dorian and closed them with a deep breath. “We’re all weary.” 

“I imagine so. I didn’t mean to add to it.”

“No, it’s- the temple was so corrupted; it was difficult to stay composed.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “And your hand?” Cullen pulled back a sleeve and held up his bruised arm from the shielded blow of the Templar that shattered its own forearm. It was no longer a ghastly red, but had blotches of green and yellow up and down the toned muscle. Dorian looked at his shoddy handiwork with a shrug. “Well, no scars this time.” 

Cullen gave an equally ambivalent shrug. “Maker knows I have enough.”

“Oh yes, ” Dorian said, eyeing the thin line at his mouth that he had grown to cherish. “You’re positively grotesque.” His sarcasm was clear, and Cullen quirked a strange smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “The guests at the Winter Palace will love you, undoubtedly. I’m only glad I’ll get to watch the fray.” 

“No need to bring Orlesians into an otherwise nice evening,” Cullen huffed. 

“One battle at a time, I suppose.” Dorian put one leg up and leaned on the staff that rested at his side. “Quite the mess we stumbled into.”

Cullen hesitated a moment. “It was worse than I thought.”

“But still fruitful. If anyone can find some value in those remnants, it’s Dagna.”

“That’s true. She’s your favorite for a reason.”

Dorian could hardly believe Cullen remembered him saying that but he was pleased by it. “Smarts, doesn’t it?”

Cullen grinned, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the log. They were quiet a moment and Dorian wondered if he should correct himself, despite the joke, until Cullen asked: “Why didn’t you mention your time magic to the others?”

He hadn’t expected that question. “Why didn’t  _ you _ ?”

“Do I have reason to?” 

“Well, no,” Dorian sighed. His let his eyes pass over the logs to burn the fire a bit higher. “But you can imagine there might be some blowback; even from Korvyn.”

“You mean because you’re using the power your mentor used which currently has him in prison under Skyhold.” It was not accusatory, but very factual. 

“Alexius was using the amulet to cut across huge distances and attempt to change past events while I’m merely slowing it; that’s not the same. This is my patent.” Cullen turned a look that was only slightly alarmed. “Not that I  _ would _ patent such a thing. I’m not completely deplorable.”

“‘ _ Merely _ slowing it.’”

“I'm aware that it could be dangerous, but it did save our necks.”

“Don't misunderstand; I'm not chastising you,” Cullen said. “I think if you told the Inquisitor about it, it would be more than helpful. It's impressive spellcasting and the enemy wouldn't expect it.”

Dorian paused a moment. He had expected to defend himself, and while he would always take an earnest compliment, it was hefty and practical from the Commander. Somehow, he would have preferred it said in jest, so he wouldn't have to swallow the sincerity that made his chest heavy. “You’re being more reasonable than I expected.”

“You’re always going to do whatever you want. I have to trust that you know what you’re doing.”

“Now that is something most do not learn soon enough.”

As Cullen leaned back with his head up, Dorian decided to do the same. He placed his staff down and leaned back with him, bumping shoulders. Above the canopy of leaves were immensely bright stars flickering in clouds of celestial dust. He recognized some of the asterisms, though they were higher than he would have thought. The year was passing quickly. Had he even missed his own birthday? 

“Dorian,”

“Yes?”

“What does it feel like?”

“Magic?”

“Yes.”

Dorian took a moment to think about it. He could tell why Cullen waited until they were not looking each other in the face to ask. He could wager it was taboo to think of magic as anything other than monstrous and cursed when raised as a Templar. Only out of the Order, far away from Skyhold, and alone in the woods could he ever allow himself to be curious about the pleasures of magic. “What does it feel like,” he wondered. “Sometimes it works so perfectly and in tune that it feels like . . . creating something wonderful because you can. Sometimes it’s as dull as breathing or as difficult as a hangover. I’ve had times where I felt like I might completely lose control, while other times the power of it was so concentrated that I felt invincible. It is so ingrained as to who I am that . . . it has its own gamut as any spread of emotions.” Cullen was thoughtful as he listened to Dorian’s words. “Is that anything like how Templar powers feel?”

“No,” he replied, regretfully. “It’s more like . . .straining water from a rag. When you run out, you replenish. After your explanation, I feel a little sorry for using a Smite on you.”

Dorian elbowed him. “I had asked for it. If it had to happen, thank goodness you were my first.”

Cullen huffed a small laugh and played along. “Though none too gentle.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Well,” he changed the subject quickly. “Does it make you miss Tevinter, being farther north?”

“Parts of it.” Dorian slowly sat back up to gaze at the flame. It was bittersweet to turn his mind’s eye back to his homeland. It would be what passed for “cold” there. Minrathous would get biting winds that ripped through alleyways, tossing up hats and robe hems. Qarinas would be beautiful and temperate with the occasional rainstorm. His mother would be in her study by the fire with a glass of dessert wine. Those very memories, however, were also besmirched with whispers and rumors. Yes, he did miss it, desperately, but he also despised very particular parts of it. “Let's just say, I don't miss the messes I left behind. There  _ is _ a modicum of acceptance, both at Skyhold and in Tevinter, but they’re both. . . reluctant. Dependent upon influence.”

“Surely it’s no longer-”

“Oh, I’ll stop you right there, Commander.” Dorian made himself grin for the next words to come easier. “Let’s not pretend it isn’t my status that let me get away with so much in Tevinter, or Korvyn’s sympathy that has enabled me to stay, rather than handing me over to my father or having to fight my way up through the Inquisition like any other recruit. I’m sure better mages than me have perished in the southern wilds.” He wasn’t sure where this had come from; these regrets about how much they tried to do with how little control they really had. They were thoughts that crept up while he tried to sleep, not conversation pieces. Cullen didn’t reply, though it seemed like he wanted to. “Ignore my boring cynicism. Not so for the decorated Commander of humble background?”

Cullen gave pause, but he let Dorian move the topic along. He rolled his shoulders that bumped back into Dorian’s before saying, quietly: “I know what people think of me.”

“Are you joking? I don’t think you have a clue. Templar-trained Ferelden soldier, golden-haired Commander serving the Herald of Andraste, et cetera, et cetera. I suppose they’ll wait for the Empress’ approval of the Inquisition before they paint a portrait of you.” 

“They don’t say that.”

“Of course, plenty of mages here and there are going to hate you. Perhaps that’s a worthy bargain considering what could have continued with the Order.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed as he also sat up to gaze at the fire. The familiar tightening of his mouth was taking him back to that cursed Shrine of Dumat. “I was there when Samson was expelled from the Order in Kirkwall . . . Even if it’s a livelihood I left behind, it’s hard to see what it’s become. I never knew it could get so much worse.”

“How things might have changed if you did enough, intervened enough?”

“Yes,” he said with conviction.

“You’re wasting your time, Commander.” He waved his hand in dismissal as Cullen turned to him in disbelief. 

“I know not to dwell, but . . .there’s value in evaluating mistakes.”

“Mistakes - yes. Not in endless ‘coulds,’ ‘shoulds,’ and ‘would haves,’” Dorian replied softly. “I’ve been steeped in politics my entire life. One learns the Game to survive; there’s little joy in it. You, however, have always been a soldier. Your strategies are in war, not in social competition, so there will be differences in how we see things. I know how you play chess.” He smiled. “You’re so particular about the losses you take like you’re planning out every scenario. Other players may toss away any piece to get to Check because that’s the game. The weaker ones distract, the powerful ones stay - but you don’t do that. I had thought you were just showing off - or it was a personal preference. But I wonder if you just test your own boundaries. ”

“Or maybe you’re just bad at chess,” he replied, and Dorian chuckled. “And I’ve seen how  _ you _ play,” Cullen continued. “Changing the rules of the games, hiding pieces and sleight of hand?”

“That’s politics.” He held up a hand in his defense. “The point is that you focus on every detail and try to save every piece. That’s not how the game is won; You know that already, but you still beat yourself up over losing anything.”

“I’ve almost risked everything before. It was holding on that succeeded; saved lives.”

Dorian could feel his mind’s eye turning to Haven; what Korvyn had mentioned about them willing to end everyone’s life in order to bury Corypheus and his army. They were both quiet a moment, looking into the flames.   
“It’s a nice metaphor,” Cullen started, “Chess and war; But they aren’t comparable at this scale. I protect my recruits because I do value them as individuals risking their life for me and the Inquisition. Maybe I do . . . hold on too tightly to a past that’s slipping away. But as for chess, I only Check you with pawns to irritate you.”

Dorian smiled at him. “Well, it works.”

“It seems easy for you, though. The way you distance yourself from your countrymen.”

“Is this still about you and the Templars?”

“No, I’m asking about  _ you _ .”

Dorian paused. His feelings about Tevinter were always complicated. “Don’t get me wrong - I love my homeland deeply. I criticize it because I know what it  _ could be _ . It still holds the North, but it will crumble under archaic traditions. The squabbling for power is strong as ever, but Tevinter is becoming too isolationist for such instability.” A sigh pushed its way from his mouth. “I may not have been able to change too much at the Lower Floor Debates, but it was exhilarating simply to challenge them; to force them to defend their petty arguments and confront their policies that they were convinced would go unchallenged. When my peers joined in with me it made a fantastic racket. Just stirring up arguments; putting that proverbial rock in their shoe was enough. Until it wasn’t.”

“Is that the part you miss?” Cullen asked, voice so low and gentle that he understood why men died for him.

Dorian took a breath. “I know I say otherwise, but it was. . . It was hard to do what I did.”

“To walk away from everything you knew, to what you think is right.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “Amongst many other things.”

“It’s admirable.”

“To be honest, I was never really loyal to tradition.” 

It was nice, to sit like they were, shoulders touching and staring at the fire. He idly looked down to Cullen’s ungloved hand and its solid angles. The knuckles were bruised and a stray thought of grazing a thumb over those knuckles struck him; of how nice it would be to lean sideways and curl onto his neck. Stupid, really. 

Cullen moved a little to face toward Dorian as they spoke. “I’m glad you’ve found family here.” It was genuine, and Dorian had to concede, a little heartbreaking in its pledge of durability. Cullen, a man who thought hoping for a future was too much to ask, was at least assured that there was acceptance for Dorian amongst them.

“I think most families fight more than ours do.”

“We’ve had our share.”

“Though, not enough in the sparring ring. . .” Dorian pretended to contemplate.

“You are always looking for a rematch, aren’t you?”

“Good practice is a good cause.” 

“I do notice the way you take joy in your craft,” Cullen said, averting his eyes. “I only fight with necessity and efficiency. I don’t take pride in it as I once did. Perhaps it's your enthusiasm that contributes to your continual improvement. Improvisation that leads to stronger strategy.”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“I only mean that you’re -” Cullen turned to see Dorian staring at him. “Uh,”

“Commander, please, you can keep going.”

Finally, Cullen turned back into himself with slight roll of the eyes. “Here we go. Why do I bother. . .”

“Funny, I recall you once saying this was ‘Ferelden, where we say what we mean’ or thereabouts?”

It was hard for Cullen to sound indignant while hiding a smirk. “I was trying to, if you could stop making fun.”

“Who’s making fun? I’m deeply invested in this conversation about how I’m a wonderful spellcaster.”

“That’s quite alright. I wouldn’t want to puff up your feathers any more than they already are”

“Oh, you don't know the half of it; I'm not even on display.”

“‘ _ Display? _ ’” He failed to hold back a laugh. “What comes after that - posturing? A mating dance?”

“Give me 10 silk scarves and I'd show you.”

Cullen put a hand to his eyes when he laughed outright and Dorian adored it. Though, perhaps they were laughing a little too loudly.

“If you two are done flirting,” Bull huffed, “some of us are trying to sleep.”

Cullen’s reaction was expected and he stammered through a smile. “I didn’t mean to- ah-”

“Don’t mind him.” Dorian knocked his knee against Cullen’s, but Cullen made to get up.

“Sorry.” His voice was almost a whisper now, not to disturb the others “Maybe it is time to turn in.” He busily patted the dirt from his elbows.

Dorian stood as well and lowered his own voice. “You don’t need to apologize, and never you mind what he says.” Especially if he was in on a bet. “You know, some people assume that about us anyway. Speculation tends to follow me in general and I’m sorry if you get the friendly fire of it.”

Cullen’s didn’t look offended as much as embarrassed. His face softened into a slight smile, miles away from the nerves he had earlier, and his hand habitually went to his neck. “Well, it’s not the worst assumption they could have, is it?”

Dorian’s pulse jumped. “Is it?”

“ _ Where truth ends, stories continue, _ as the saying goes.”

“Of course,” Dorian added hastily. He didn’t mention:  _ Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. _

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Dorian.”

“Commander,”

“Yes?”

“That’s Korvyn and Bull’s tent.”

“Ah, oh, then where am I-” Dorian watched as he slowly closed his eyes in realization. “Oh.” 

Now they had to pretend this wasn’t awkward. “You go ahead; I’ll put everything away.” 

Dorian packed up the rest of what they didn’t need for the morning, and through the nearby tent he heard a slight chuckle nearby. “Mind your own business, you.” Dorian whispered. Bull said no more, but he could tell he was having fun meddling.

Dorian deliberately took his time and waited by the fire before putting it out. When he quietly crouched into the tent with a small flame of veilfire in his hand, there was no heavy breathing that indicated slumber. There was plenty of space inside, with bedrolls on opposite sides and a lot of equipment strewn in between. Dorian only saw faint, green outlines in the dark: a strong back facing him, hair slightly mussed on the pillow. He extinguished the light. Too cold and cautious to take off much himself, Dorian only folded his robes aside so they wouldn’t wrinkle. He turned onto his back, his side, then faced Cullen again. It was very strange to lie next to an awake person, with the both of them refusing to say a word, trying to sleep. He couldn’t help but stare at the black figure a few feet away from him, but he couldn’t make out if there were freckles there, left over from childhood summers.  _ Talk to me _ , he wished, but Dorian couldn’t speak either. The atmosphere was calm and quiet and he had to preserve that. There was an irrational fear bubbling up at the thought that Cullen might see him asleep; that he might see Dorian unguarded. He didn't want Cullen to see him in a way that he couldn't control. Everything he orchestrated, from his looks to his words, to the perception of being an outcast completely by choice was a matter of taking what he had and spinning it into something advantageous; even when he avoided his feelings after the confrontation with his father, he came to tell Cullen about it on his terms only. He let his allies see flashes of himself on occasion; let his guard down and enjoyed himself with people who had no reason to exploit him. 

Dorian sighed quietly as he stared at Cullen’s shoulderblades. There  _ was _ some kind of pull, wasn’t there? Dorian could feel a change in dynamics at work. It was like a change of lens that was so very very slight, yet it distorted all that he thought he knew. He could pretend that his flirtations were superficial; He could pretend that Cullen’s reactions to him were simply amusement. What would it mean if Cullen actually took interest? Nothing by way of toss-away fantasies, but the true possibility of pulling their bodies together and watching him unfold.

He felt a buzzing under his skin, as he’d been here before - when time magic was nothing but theory; just a fanciful thought that wouldn’t become reality - yet he was living it now, and the fancy was reachable. The thought was thrilling; that if he wanted to, he could reach out to him now, touch his pale neck and ask him if he wanted to try something they might both be thinking. Cullen would be kind if he wasn’t interested - He had turned down Korvyn, hadn’t he? They still got along. 

And yet. What of it? If he did have an interest in Dorian, that guaranteed nothing. What if their Commander had his principles in order and any and all attractions were kicked to the bottom of that list? That was. . . entirely more likely. It was what happened with Lieutenant Lavellan, after all. Cullen might like Dorian’s company and his looks in equal measure, but it meant nothing if he was waiting for the war to be over. Dorian turned away to the other wall of the tent. That was what it always boiled down to. At the end of the day, he was making a lot of assumptions based on his own interests instead of the heavy reality of their near future.

This was ridiculous. They just needed to sleep and Dorian was over-analyzing everything. They would be at the Winter Palace in less than a week. He turned onto his back again.

“ _ For Maker’s sake _ , Dorian,” Cullen’s tired voice filled the tent. “Go to sleep. Your fidgeting will be the death of me.”

By all rights, it should not have been that funny, but his own exhaustion and nervousness had him catching a laugh in his throat. His shoulders shook as he tried to contain it.

“What are you laughing about?” Cullen murmured, though his voice was amused. Of course Dorian couldn’t say he felt like a wreck; like past and future missions didn’t already border on the absurd; that he had quietly turned thirty and didn’t know where his life was going; that barely being able to see Cullen’s shoulders in the dark was sending him over the edge of reason. He couldn’t open his mouth at all or else he would wake everyone with his inane laughing at how bizarre his life had become. “If you’re succumbing to madness, tell me about it in the morning.” Cullen said, turning over in the dark.

He had to think of something else, say something else - but he could think of nothing further to say. When he thought of the next day, and the journey to Val Royeaux, the familiar tightness of stress was easier to handle, and he finally slept. 

As it turned out, they woke up at the same time when Korvyn unceremoniously yelled at them to get up. The tent was humid with their body heat, and Dorian merely sat up and stared forward for a moment in order for the world to pull into some sort of sense. The Fade was always heavy and reluctant to give him up too quickly. He turned to look at Cullen who had pulled on a shirt and was staring at him. Dorian instinctively moved a hand to his hair.

“What?”

“You seriously wake up like that?” He asked, offended.

It took several minutes of Cullen pulling on armor and getting ready while Dorian sat staring into space that he finally understood that Cullen had given him a strange, back-handed compliment. Their Commander was already around the fire for breakfast before Dorian had become coherent enough to realize that he should probably get up, but his heart was pounding and he didn’t know why. At least, he didn’t want to admit why.

 


	15. What Are You Waiting For?

“Hate” was, perhaps, too strong of word. Hate required energy, which Cullen no longer had. “Despise” had the right amount of impulsive contempt - that was it. He despised the whole situation. 

Several days earlier they were marked with sweat and dirt as they traveled the Imperial highway to Val Royeaux from the Shrine of Dumat. They had finally been able to rest at supervised Inquisition camps with their own scouts, and took the opportunity to continue healing up as they moved south. It also meant that there were several more pairs of eyes on them when they recovered for the evening, and Cullen would not let himself sit alone with Dorian again. It was possible that Iron Bull was just winding up Dorian as he usually did, but the possibility of his infatuation being obvious gnawed at him like a nervous itch. Dorian had  _ apologized _ \- for the “association” one could get with being his friend, but that was never what he had been worried about catching. Cullen had leaned back to listen to Dorian’s voice and wondered at the comfort it brought him despite sitting in a foreign wood at night. It was his laughs that got him the most - sometimes smug, or rushing out in surprise, or even barely contained behind a punchline. Cullen kept waiting for affections to settle, neutralize, become fraternal, but they continued to surge up in bursts of fond energy and aching playfulness. How long did he have to wait? How long? He had to hold on tightly, because he knew what would happen if he slackened the reins.

He cleaned up his professionalism, cleared up plans made with scouts in the drizzling forests, and felt a little more comfortable in these familiar expectations. They seemed relieved at his presence, and in turn it reaffirmed his faith in them. He sometimes caught the grim thought that his life seemed compassed towards war until he inevitably died on the field, but if it was where the Maker saw fit to put him, it was all he could do to comply and do his job well. When they discretely arrived in Val Royeaux,they took the time to clean up and take another expensive ship to Hilamshiral, where they split ways with half of the party. 

Korvyn had been wise in his choice of who to bring. Vivienne, Cassandra, and Dorian were all relaxed and handsome in their crimson uniforms. He had half expected that the Grand Enchanter and the Tevinter Altus would complain about matching, but they were impartial and Dorian was even somewhat satisfied in displaying connection with the Inquisition. He had only glanced at Dorian once that night before leaving, who wore his uniform so well that it was enough to convince Cullen to keep him no closer than his peripheral in order to stay focused. Now, they had only just been introduced before the Empress and they stood like new toys in her massive dollhouse of matching nobles. Under the shine of gold trim and sparkle of jewels in candlelight were the harsh whispers and jagged smiles of gossip. The intricacies of fabric went ignored in shadows of folds, the gentle lilt of the Orlesian tongue lifted with the bubbling wine, and the music and mild dialogue combined into a sea of background noise that made it difficult to keep track of who was talking to him or near him. Everything felt deceptively soft. 

Cullen had been set upon at once, a new source of intrigue for the bored aristocracy. Leliana had warned him to be tight-lipped and polite as a double measure of restraining his blunt opinions and leaving the guests around him happily curious. No, it wasn’t hate, but he despised being there. He despised being surrounded by strangers and being asked questions they didn’t actually want the answers to, while their eyes roamed over his body and appraised his worth. He despised seeing the accumulated wealth that people of his hometown could only dream of, and how he was supposed to be privileged to witness how flippant they were with it. He despised the way he was made out to be quaint for being low-born Ferelden unlike his present colleagues; that the activities of the poor were foreign to them and hadn’t he come such  _ a long way up _ to be in their company? He despised the heavy perfume and the fact that it gave him a headache on top of pretending that he wasn’t rigorously studying the room for signals or assassins. Above all, he despised the subtleties and deception more than the pomposity. This was the work of their spymaster and diplomat, but he knew they had to portray a united front. But what did his feelings have to do with it? He would endure anything to help Korvyn with this task, even if it was a challenge without a sword.

“Are you married, Commander?”

Cullen turned, but the gathering of masks made it no clearer as to who had asked. He gripped the full glass in his hand that he had been given half an hour ago. “I’m. . . married to my work.”

“Still single then. . .”

The group around him giggled knowingly and Cullen was glad, at least, that he was mostly unaffected by their advances. They continued to have conversations with his inclusion in their circle as if he were part of the discussion, but Cullen made no effort to socialize. He looked over feathered and horned hats to see Korvyn making his way to different political figures. The Inquisitor had to satiate a lot of curiosity before he would be able to walk around without interruption. Korvyn had been nervous about this night for a long time, but since Josephine gave natural assurance and he had an objective to get done, he had forced himself to put nerves aside and was gracefully gaining approval while collecting information. With his noble upbringing, the court seemed to almost forget that he was a mage, and when he stopped by to see Cullen, most of the questions asked to the Inquisitor were about his family rather than his work. He had been worried that coming to the Winter Palace with a party of three mages might have the aristocracy clutching their pearls, but they seemed to have terribly missed Vivienne’s impervious wit. 

Cullen caught eyes with Leliana down the row and she winked, enjoying herself. He remembered the conversation they had just before entering:  _ “You’re mostly just a symbol for them anyway. You only need to be quiet and polite and you’ll fill their expectations. Just look pretty.” “I’m a symbol of the Inquisition’s strength, Leliana.” A clever smile, and: “Of course, Commander.”  _ Cullen sighed. She knew best.    
He glanced to where Korvyn made his way across the room and pointedly looked away as he slipped out. Korvyn must have a lead, and Cullen had to wait while he followed up on it - an excruciating thought. No, he could handle it. He was their leader for a reason.

 

//

 

“I think there is a way up if I climb the trellis,”

“Are you bloody serious?” Dorian tried his best not to let his smile falter in case they were observed, but Korvyn just gave him a determined nod. “If you get us thrown out, there won’t be an Empress to save-”

“I know-”

“Korvyn-”

“I swear I’ve got it - and I’m going to need your help later, so wait for me in the ballroom.”

Korvyn politely walked away and Dorian faced away from the potential disaster of a falling trellis. He waited an agonizing moment of pretending to admire the garden, but there were no outbursts of protest or shocked gasps, so he must have made it up the trellis to the balcony safely and unseen. Maker, this was the man he’d follow to the void and back climbing garden furniture.

Korvyn was surviving the party without too much of a hitch, as he had his own small following with each introduction - and why wouldn’t he? A somewhat attractive young man of noble birth, unmarried, leader of a new religious faction with romantic gestures of saving the world. Of course, there was the issue that he was a mage and,  _ oh dear _ , a rebel sympathizer at that, but his status as single was a political gambit that one would be a fool to ignore, even if it was quietly directed at their lovely ambassador. For most of them, their youth, single status, and high aptitude for getting killed made them all juicy targets for social climbers. This, however, did not apply to Dorian, the enemy at the doorstep.

Besides the wait staff offering fantastic wine, there were only a handful who deigned to speak to him. Half of them were decent people - supporters of the Inquisition stopping by only to introduce themselves - while the other half were rebellious young people, knowing full well their parents wouldn’t approve and feeling out whether Dorian were some purveyor of scandalous excitement and cool witticisms. Were he in Tevinter, Dorian would have excelled such expectations, but being on a mission with the Inquisition’s reputation to uphold, he stayed two steps ahead of the conversations instead, opting to stay mysterious and giving them enough sarcasm to be satisfied. A very young woman in a blue mask had walked over without introduction (a faux pas), and smiled so openly that it was almost obscene amongst the tight-lipped smirks of other guests. Of course, at her age he had started the first of several flings with Ulio by pulling him into a coat room at the Wintersend Banquet. Ah, to be so young and naive again.  _ Maker, that was thirteen years ago _ . He grabbed another drink at that thought and moved on.

Making good on Korvyn’s trust, Dorian made his way back to the stuffy ballroom through magnificent hallways of marble pillars and aged paintings that reminded him a little of Maevaris’ place. The Empress had a very pretty set up. The golds, silvers, whites and blues had an airy touch of lavishness. He was used to the decadence of blacks, golds, dark reds and purples that Tevinter often used for intimidation. The prestige and expense, of course, made them both beautiful in different ways, though there were pointedly less magical items on display. Tevinter was so ornamental with magic that it balanced ice statues, changed candle lighting with nightly aesthetics, and could make jewels orbit around a woman’s tiara like tiny stars. Though he had heard that Celene had a special enchanted teapot that kept the water warm, Orlais’ lack of magic was compensated with its extreme detailing in clothes, to furniture, to manners. He was glad, at least, that he had no mask requirement. As a branch technically related to the Chantry, it would be unacceptable for the Inquisition to wear masks, as the pious were expected to always be honest. Dorian figured that the masks were a crutch to hiding expression, and he rather liked the rebelliousness of showing off his face, as well as needing no obstruction to hide the thoughts behind his eyes. 

At the open and inviting doors of the ballroom, Dorian gave a nod to Cassandra and absorbed the looks of eyes that turned to him when he walked through. The mixture of curiosity, appraisal, and scorn was a delicious cocktail that radiated from body language and mouths beneath masks. He knew he looked impeccable, and he knew that despite their ire for his homeland and people like him, they would at least play at being nice. He had hated having to live this way, but for old-time's sake it was quite fun. He saw saw Madame Vivienne lounging with whom he had to assume where old favorites. He had grown accustomed to her extravagance around Skyhold, and even in this more demure uniform she held her head high and shoulders back with prestige in the crimson velvet, as if she herself were a respected general. 

“Dorian, darling, come meet my friends,” she said, perfectly grandiose as if she came with the room around them. After all, had it been so long since she was at the Empress’ side? She introduced the well-seasoned diplomats and Dorian wondered at the way she was enjoying herself. She had fought for this, after all, while he had escaped from it.

“A pleasure to meet you,” the Lady said, “Lucky for us here that you don’t wear a mask.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Vivienne smiled playfully. “You’re wearing one right now, aren’t you, my dear?” She addressed him with a knowing fondness he wasn’t used to seeing. He wasn’t the only one who didn’t need a mask.

“It’s Tevinter custom to be entirely inscrutable,” Dorian said with a measured smile. 

“How tiring for you! But it’s a handsome mask, all the same,” The Lady said, playing along. Strange; it was presented as a compliment, and even Dorian himself had thought it, yet when presented that way it seemed more sad than impressive.

“Perhaps I will have that talent one day,” the Lord said, “But I may be on my deathbed before then.”

“Nonsense. The world would stop if Lord Pasquier weren’t in it,” His wife added.

After bowing and moving on, Dorian saw his dear Commander cooling off by a window and flocked with admirers. Cullen didn’t have the family name, but pious positions carried their own weight and forgave humble beginnings. True to his Templar roots, Cullen had stationed himself in the ballroom like a guard to keep his eyes on the Inquisitor or other advisors. It was dreadfully obvious that he was nervous and out-of-place, but Dorian was sure the Orlesians found it as cute as he did. The Commander was magnificent in his military regalia, the red and gold fitting wonderfully across broad shoulders and trousers that gave generous purchase to his thighs. Points to Josephine, all around. Dorian hadn’t been lying when he said he ought to make a portrait. He was also strangely glad that they matched, as they would look good by association. 

“Commander, is it true that the Inquisitor felled a dragon?”

“I would hope so,” Dorian said, as he approached. “Otherwise the dragonskin boots would cost a fortune.”

“Ser Pavus!” The rebellious young woman in the blue mask was there. “Oh, Commander, please introduce him!” 

The strangers around him showed slight expressions at her outburst, no doubt put off from her naivete, yet charmed by new enthusiasm and equally curious about him. Of course he had already been introduced before the Empress, but this was for pleasantries. 

No one witnessed the relieved look on Cullen’s face, as they had all turned their heads to Dorian. He had to admit that there was some part of himself that he wanted to show-off for Cullen, but the Commander quickly averted his eyes. “Of course,” Cullen obliged, “This is Dorian Pavus of Qarinas; He is a valued member of the Inquisition’s inner circle.” 

“Most recently of Minrathous,” Dorian amended. There was some tension in the body language of those gathered, as no doubt they saw him as a Magister or a blood mage. The fact that Tevinter was continually provoking Orlais didn’t grant any points for charm.

“Dorian, this is, ah-” For a few more clumsy minutes, Cullen tried to introduce the people around him that he’d been ignoring, while those arriving to the conversation introduced themselves with a bow.

“My, a Magister from multiple Circles - you must be quite prolific!” an older man attempted. “How do you like Orlais?”

“Charming,” Dorian said. “Val Royeaux is quite the jewel, though I have not yet visited the University there.”

“A shame! Every learned man ought to!” he said. 

“I’ve heard there’s a bit of controversy over class curriculum - is that so?” Dorian asked, as if such knowledge were imperative to have.

“Monsieur, you don’t know the half of it!” A Lady broke in. There was an immediate launch into the politics of Val Royeaux about whether the religious authority had any say in what professors were allowed to teach. As the group talked amongst themselves, Dorian took a slight step back and stood beside Cullen. He couldn’t talk to him for too long or it would show a marked preference. It was never advantageous to show anyone in the Game that you cared about something or someone in any capacity. Cullen spared him a glance and spoke softly. 

“Did you know that would happen?”

“Are you asking if I know the predictability of aristocrats? ‘ _ Bad at chess _ ’ my arse.”

Cullen gave the slightest tug of a smile. “This isn’t chess.”

“No, it’s Wicked Grace with a few more hidden daggers and everyone keeps their clothes on. Not as fun.”

“Shall I get you ten scarves, then?” 

Dorian almost choked on his drink, but pulled himself together. “I think I’d need a few more glasses of wine before I got to that.” He looked from Cullen’s gaze to the swirling skirts and straight-backed men of the central floor. “Aren't  _ you _ going to dance, Commander?” he asked softly. “You can't evade everyone forever."

“I absolutely can."

“You’ve been turning people down all evening, haven’t you? You're like a fortress.” When Cullen held his head a little higher at that, Dorian added, “And I don't mean it as a compliment.  _ Honestly, _ ” he sighed. “You do know how, don't you?” Cullen's silence was damning enough, but the sliding eyes and slight color made confirmation. "Josephine let you come here without any lessons?"

"She did try to hire someone, but I refused."

"Cullen," Dorian shook his head, though Cullen turned at hearing his name, rather than his title. "You let your pride stand in the way of diplomacy? You might very well offend someone."

The man was a conflict of containment and passions. He was so used to swinging from barking commands during drills to isolating himself for work and privacy that he didn't seem to know what to do with himself when having to pretend to feel otherwise. “They've already offended me plenty. They pretend to be polite and proper, yet they have absolutely no manners whatsoever - Grabbing at me and asking invasive questions,” he admitted, a blush rising to his face. He could see now; Cullen was not nervous and lost as much as harassed and irritated. Dorian had spent so much time with him alone or with the traveling party that he had slightly forgotten about his social anxieties, and underestimated the fact that the Commander knew how keep his brash feelings under a stoic facade. He had, after all, fooled most of Skyhold into thinking that he wasn’t off lyrium. 

The guests around them started to quiet down and make loose truces of agreement about University policy when Dorian added, “I see, so will the price of tuition increase, then?” to which another smiling yet heated argument began to rise. 

Dorian spoke again to Cullen, who distracted himself by observing the dance floor. “If there were a way, would you want me to teach you?"

"You?" Cullen turned to look him directly in the face, so Dorian knew he was considering it. ". . . Why?"

"Why  _ not _ ?” Dorian smiled in disbelief. “I just explained why. You’re in battle without a weapon, Commander. You could also get away from the chatter. Maybe dance with Cassandra.”

Cullen stared down to the drink in his hand. “There wouldn’t possibly be any time.”   
“Is that a ‘no?’”   
“. . . Not entirely.”

A funny little of sprig of prospect grew in Dorian's mind. It could be fun, if this whole assassin problem didn't turn the night to shit. How hilarious would it be to teach the Commander some dances so he would be forced to entertain the prowling rich widowers? He could hold it over Cullen’s head for a long time; it was a joke with mileage. 

Korvyn had made his way back into the ballroom and a few guests moved to speak with him. Their Inquisitor graciously met the people before him, as if those months of preparing for this night were non-existent. “Cleans up nicely, doesn’t he? Hard to believe that not three days ago he was wailing as Cole pulled a tick off his shoulder.”    
Cullen almost let himself smile, but Dorian knew he had to be cautious of prying eyes. “And not two days ago you were almost sick over deck on the way here,” he said, taking a sip of his drink at last. 

“Alright, fair.” He caught Korvyn’s eye from across the room, and the striking green of them sustained eye contact. Dorian knew it was time to quit the party for a while. “Until then,” Dorian said to him, and when he began to move, he once again caught attention of the group that was starting to warm up to him by proximity. “I had no idea so much was happening there,” Dorian said to them, moving away and detangling himself from the group. “I suppose I must visit it and see for myself.”

“You must!” They encouraged, and let him go, easy as that. 

 

//

 

“Leaving blood stains all over the marble,” Vivienne tutted.

“Mercenaries can be so pedestrian,” Dorian agreed.

Korvyn looked around at the scene of dead Venatori circled around them. “Uh, we’re doing the same thing.”

“Cassandra is, perhaps, but freezing a man’s heart in place at least keeps the floor clean,” Dorian said.

“How considerate of you,” Cassandra deadpanned. 

They had moved through beautiful rooms of gilded furniture and satin wallpaper that shimmered with moonlight. Ghostly sheets of white were draped over much of the furnishings and possessions, and only thick, pale beams of light led them through deserted hallways. Venatori, as they expected, had made their way into the infestation of plotting agents in the palace. Between them and the harlequins, it seemed apt when Ambassador Briala arrived with her own people in place. A truce was welcome, and they had places to be, but motivations were all conjecture when the players held their cards to their chests.    
Vivienne’s fortified protection spell had kept their uniforms impeccable in time for them to make appearances here and there about the palace rooms. The secret of leaving the party to kill enemies less than eighty paces away added a dangerous edge to the occasion that reminded him so much of a Tevinter party. He wondered briefly if this was the kind of housekeeping that royalty and magisters regularly had to do - seemed exhausting. In any case, there were still plots to unravel and marble to keep clean.

 

//

 

A few rumors floated as Dorian had left, but Cullen wondered if they were milder in his presence. One whispered that she would be afraid to bring her daughter around him, while another said he was supposedly a “confirmed bachelor.” Cullen had made no effort for sympathy when he announced casually that members of the Inquisition were all of repute, and the overheard party hastened to agree.

While Dorian had saved him for only a few moments, the way he had become unreadable to the others made him uncomfortably aware of how experienced he was in changing faces. It wasn’t that much of a difference - it was Dorian’s normal face, rather, with a marked  _ lack _ of the expressions Cullen had been accustomed to seeing. It also reminded Cullen how very ill-suited he was to courtly niceties. He had tried to fall back on the sober, soldierly decorum of restraint and simplicity but this deterred no one from poking and provoking his patience. He was not, at least, “losing” the Game: it was quite clear that he wasn't even a player, and it made him wonder just how obvious every movement was, every glance, in how he stood where he did only out of necessity rather than interest in their affairs - and if any of the people around him even cared. 

When Korvyn reappeared, the advisors quickly excused themselves in order to meet him. He was on edge, quickly recounting dead servants and Venatori agents in place all over the renovation areas. An assassination was indeed planned, and the Grand Duchess had directed him to Gaspard’s people. With the facts laid plain, Cullen could finally strategize, but it was a trap so obvious that perhaps the Grand Duchess was relying on Korvyn’s curiosity to draw him in. Though, rather than being a setup for Gaspard to strike, it was more likely that other agents were in play to set him up. Leliana’s assertion that as long as Orlais was united, the head under the crown didn’t matter made sense. Korvyn, however, had never been as ruthless, and never pretended to know, as a Circle mage from Ostwick, about the intricacies of Orlesian politics or whether he had a right to decide its fate. If he must, he would direct the hand holding the dice, rather than risking the roll himself. He would save Celene, and return to Inquisitorial duties where he was needed.

Korvyn let himself be seen for a moment around the ballroom and then went to follow that tip - there was no time for pleasantries. He meant to walk into this trap if he had to, following any leads that would come from it, so Cullen stepped out to inform the movement of soldiers should need require them. He had finally been able to make some small contribution through the night. Briala and Gaspard were both curiously  gone, though Cullen figured it was a good thing that Gaspard hadn’t lowered himself to speak to a Ferelden like him, as he wasn’t sure how well he would keep his composure. As soon as he arrived back in the ballroom, a new group of people sought him out, thankfully more tipsy and accepting of his silence. With his extraordinary self-discipline Cullen could be patient, but it was still horrid to wait, just as he would stand the solid hours of witnessing a Harrowing and wonder if a mage would return to them or bring forth a demon instead.  _ Maker, don’t think. Wait. _

A subtle movement began to take place in which the handsome guests started to drift more frequently, chatter increased, and a sense of liveliness had awakened their forms. Some sort of expectation was building, and Cullen realized that soon the chorus would come to a swell and Celene would address them all. He moved closer to the ballroom entrance and was relieved that they didn’t pay him mind. He glanced across the room anxiously from Josephine to Leliana, but of course they would show no sign of worry, even if it did press against them. Korvyn finally returned, massaging the anchor in his hand as, even through the glove, it gave a faint glow of residual use. 

The music was already fading, Empress Celene was walking to the balcony, and before Cullen had a chance to say a word to him, Korvyn walked right up to the platform to the sharp whispers of guests and accused the Grand Duchess of treason in front of everyone. Cullen put a hand to his forehead in bewilderment, but a drama unfolded before the court. Florianne stood alone, accused, and guards moved in behind her as the guests watched in shock and glee. As she was roughly removed from the ballroom, Korvyn moved in to speak with Celene, Briala, and Gaspard. The room erupted into speculation as the Empress postponed her speech, but a smattering of clapping began and grew into a wave of applause as Celene and Korvyn appeared and Briala waited behind them. Celene summoned all of the majesty her voice could acquire and addressed the court with promises of a golden future, declaring the end of the civil war and granting appreciation to the Inquisition. To see the young mage beside the Empress and holding his own had Cullen feeling a bit proud of him. Though, even as the guests cheered, these continual successes woke some internal trepidation that there was a deadly storm yet to come. But not tonight. There were, perhaps, hours yet that he knew would be secure.

The soft and superficial pleasantries from the early evening took a turn to more familiar and sharp comments as the night became longer and people became more inebriated after the Empress’ address. 

“Don’t worry so much, Commander! You should be celebrating,” a Lady said, trying to push another drink onto him. He started to wonder if it would be inoffensive to escape to the garden. As he lingered, a geriatric in black frills and silver mask waddled by to the sliding eyes of the nearby guests.

“The poor Countess must be lost again.”

“I would help, but the last time she held me hostage for ten minutes talking about Qunari wars in the Free Marches of all things. Some ancient story that bored me to tears.”

“Besides Kirkwall, that hasn’t happened since the Steel Age.” The company turned at Cullen’s voice. 

“You know your history, Commander?”

“A bit. If you’ll excuse me.” The other guests giggled with amusement as he moved toward the elderly Countess, but he didn’t mind. The idea of having an actual conversation with a history buff had Cullen almost jumping at the opportunity. 

“Do you need a seat, Madame? Are you looking for someone?”

The Countess looked up, amused that someone was talking to her. “Nonsense, lad, but I’ll not mind a hand when offered.”

“Won’t you offer  _ me _ a hand, Commander?” A Lady pretended to whine as the people around her laughed into their gloves.

"That's – hardly -"

"May I escort you to a seat, your ladyship?" Dorian had appeared, bowing to her with immaculate form.

"Oh! Well, thank you," she said, looking from Cullen to Dorian. "My!  _ Two  _ handsome men have come to help me. Inquisition, is it?"

"Countess-?" 

“Maegher.” 

"Countess Maegher," Dorian said. “A pleasure to assist such a fine Lady.”

She quirked a smile at him as she was lead away from the gaggle of rude guests. “And what do you know about fine ladies, young man?” 

“Got me there,” Dorian replied evasively.

Cullen turned his head away to smile but Dorian followed it.

"A smile at last?” He said aside, “That's a good look on you, Commander."

"Have you been flirting with everyone all night?" Cullen whispered back. The Countess steadied herself on his arm, then reached out her other arm to Dorian.

"Oh, not  _ every _ one. Just those who will get me more wine."

“You’re not drunk?”

“If only.” He gave a slight scoff. "Would you care for fresh air?" he asked to their Lady.

The Countess gripped their muscles a little harder than necessary and grinned. "Yes, please, I'm quite due for a rest." With both of them on either side, the Countess was enjoying herself and the amused glances that came their way. They were a charming sight to people they passed. “Fascinating that the Inquisition has been reborn as it is,” Countess Maegher said, through labored steps. “The very organization that created the Seekers and Templars now supports the mages to the fall of Templars 800 years later! Wonderfully fascinating.”

They found a balcony with a heavy curtain pulled almost all the way across to keep out an evening sun that had long since passed. It was much darker, and a previous occupant had used the privacy to leave a few discarded wine-bottles, but it was otherwise clean.

“Would you like to see the view?” Cullen asked her.

“No, no. Right here is just fine.” Countess Maegher slowly molded onto the cushioned bench, placed her hands in her lap, and rested her eyes. 

“Oh,” Cullen waited a moment for her to open her eyes again, but she only let out a slight snore. “I had wanted to talk to her.”

“You still can. She’ll be a great listener.”

Dorian was observing the view, leaning on the balcony as he often did in Skyhold’s library. Cullen walked up to him and once again asked, "Did you know that would happen?"

"I noticed she and you both needed a getaway and a babysitter.  _ Voila _ , as they say in Orlais." He made a sweeping gesture. 

It was beautiful outside. Dark gardens below swayed in a breeze. The season was barely turning to spring and still cold, but the longer day left a faint blue on the horizon, and the balcony reflected all of the lush gold from flickering candlelight. The air was refreshingly crisp, and carried out a softer tune from the inside performers.

Dorian paused and noticed the ambiance as well. "Well, this is. . ." It was lovely, but Cullen wouldn't say that. It was too close to implications of another type. "This worked out. I don't think I'll surprise myself and then I do. Ah, what a burden ingenuity is." Dorian stepped back, then opened his arms, standing at a position for Cullen to join him in a dance.

Cullen blanched - he had somewhat forgotten Dorian’s suggestion, taking it for just another joke. Dorian smirked at him - It was almost a dare. Would it burn him to touch this man? If he were just to teach him, what was there to worry about? He always enjoyed himself around Dorian, didn’t he? Cullen's feet approached, and they stood before each other. Cullen lifted his arms as well, preparing for something to happen - But it was only Dorian, slipping one gloved hand into his, while the other pressed Cullen's forearm to be pulled closer. Cullen swallowed at the touch of Dorian’s hands on him. "You're . . .quite adamant. "

"And here I thought I was doing you a favor."

It was strange that it came to this; both accusing the other for the situation. Both accusations also held the weight of intent. Of course, they were both right. 

Dorian told the instructions briefly, light-hearted after Korvyn's success, and spoke with more conviction. He suddenly stepped backward, dragging Cullen with him, and told him rapid steps as they were moving. Cullen was relieved to learn, yet anxious to these new movements. This wasn't as carefree and easy as their usual banter, as a balance had shifted; there were undercurrents of something else as Dorian supervised him that left him a little cautious to tread on unfamiliar ground.

"Look at you; points for good stature, but you're rigid like a toy soldier. Relax."

"Easier to say."

"Here, you're taller than most in there, so you'll lead just as you’re doing now. Military types aren't supposed to be flashy, so just the basics are acceptable. Respectable too, if you play it stoic." He gave him a grin that, finally, he was familiar with. "Okay, hand between the shoulder blades, but if someone catches your fancy or you're with a friend, no one will care about a casual hand around the waist. Right here." A hand moved over Cullen’s and let it relax lower.

Dorian had him look at their feet to see the steps only a few times, then without looking. His feet followed along, but mentally, Cullen felt lost again, and after an evening with masked people all around him, he was starting to understand how there was a mixing of the world he perceived and the world of reality. So many interpretations could be had about one thing or one moment, and they might be contradictory and true all at once. Was this friendly or flirtatious? Or flirtatious to be friendly? Something of substance, or something that could be regarded as simple? Were they dancing, or where they  _ dancing,  _ or would it be whatever they made it into? The Game, as ever, was still illusive in meaning, but the recognition of the thing was becoming tangible. Any intent could hover on a precipice until one or the other took action. And all night, wasn't that what was on display? There were no binaries here.

"Watch your hand." It had fallen to the small of Dorian's back.

"Sorry-"

"I don't mind," He chuckled. "But you're concentrating too hard on one thing over the other. There, now wider sweeps through the floor."

They had never been in such proximity before, and there was the lure of some scent on Dorian's skin that was leaving Cullen slightly panicked for how much he wanted to lean in.

"Good, see? The illusion provided by movement. Any dancers will be more experienced, so if you give cues with your hand, they'll do a lot of their own turns. You only need to lead."

"Alright. This isn't so bad."

"No," Dorian smiled. "It isn't."

As the music in the other room slowed towards its end, Cullen slowed as well. He was loathe to stop, having Dorian so close, but now, he would have to step away. But he didn't. There was no excuse, no reason to linger or keep his eyes on his dance partner, but there it was, happening. Dorian would have – must have – noticed he didn't want to let go so quickly, but he let his feet leaden to a stop.

"There," Dorian started, "Now you can take on the big fish if you need to. You also might not, but the night is still young."

"I, uh." He felt the heat again rise to his face, but looked over Dorian's shoulder. He wore his own mask of utility to say, "I may need a bit more practice."

Dorian peered at him curiously, and though Cullen tried to keep his face placid, his eyes flicked back to the piercing grey ones. The smile Dorian had been wearing softened into something else. "Lead the way."

Neither of them spoke, swept into the music as Cullen lead Dorian for another simple dance to a new song. Dorian was so nimble and practiced that he could probably follow in his sleep, but he didn't complain at all. Though now, Cullen felt a tug in him that seemed unmistakable. Dorian wasn’t prolonging some joke at his expense - there was no audience. Cullen wasn't sure what he wanted from Dorian, only that he was here, and that was enough. For all Dorian's flippancy, Cullen couldn't help but wonder if some part of Dorian was receptive to that part of him. He had thought their friendship was clearly established and stable; everyone knew that they were friends. These creeping feelings, however, seemed both heavy in intensity and airy in open possibility. They circled each other with some strange force of attraction but there was nothing simple for him to grasp and analyze as with any other social relationship.

Their gloved hands held just a little tighter, there was a pleasant pressure of his arm on Dorian's back, how closely they hovered their bodies but did not collide. There was no pretense any longer. They were dancing because they enjoyed each other.

Once again, the music slowed to a stop, their arms slowly dropped, but Dorian didn't move very much back.

"You learn quickly," Dorian said. "But I always knew as much." Their arms were lowered, but Cullen kept his hand on Dorian’s, his other rested on Dorian’s hip. "You're not moving." Dorian's voice seemed to hide a laugh, but it had moved to interest. His voice had run deeper, and Cullen felt it to his toes. "Being gone for more than two songs will be noticeable." He shifted forward, almost against Cullen’s chest; His hand gripped back.

"You, uh. You distracted me." Cullen gave a slight, nervous laugh, but Dorian's eyes had changed - Responded. The hand on Cullen’s shoulder grazed upwards to rest at his neck. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

His eyes dropped to Dorian's lips, and it seemed clear what he wanted to do. He really wanted to. What  _ was _ he waiting for? His pulse beat so quickly that it made him, suddenly, hyper-aware of where they were. What was he waiting for, in this place and this life? Now, more than ever, everyone needed his full attention, and he was getting carried away with his own fancies; something he didn’t have the right to pursue. 

Was it too late? Had he strayed too far? He put his hand up to Dorian’s face, the same way Dorian had touched him on the ship, and his heart stretched to aching when his grey eyes fluttered closed. It wasn’t a good idea. It was never a good idea. 

"You're right." Cullen let his hand slip from his face and he stepped back. "I should get back to them."

There was the slightest moment, when Cullen saw the closed eyes tense, before they opened. Dorian’s expression slid into place; one he had seen all evening in a false smile. "Of course you should." 

He wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t say a thing. Not even a thank you. He held onto Dorian’s hand for just a few second longer, before dropping it. His shame pulled him away, turning back to the chaos.

  
  


//

 

Dorian stood a moment, amazed and rebuffed. He was somewhat unsure of what had happened, but he was also very _ very  _ aware of what happened. He sat down next to the Countess, feeling the cold masonry behind his back, when it was the heat of Cullen’s heart he had just felt on his chest. They had been dancing - they were in each other’s arms! Cullen had him in the palm of his hand and just. . . walked away. He sat a moment more, not thinking of anything, really. It was not something he wanted to process, but something heavy as a stone sunk into the middle of him anyway. 

So. That was it then.

"I thought we were having a moment," Dorian said aloud, to the disbelief of himself.

The Countess acknowledged him with a snore. 

  
  


Despite the fact that the party had every intention to continue until sunrise, Korvyn graciously decided to turn in around midnight and the company of masks agreed that stopping an assassination must have been  _ terribly stressful, poor dear _ . They were welcome to the guest rooms, but of course Korvyn didn’t trust any of them and insisted he travel at once for Inquisition business. He was merely going with the others to a nice hotel on the edge of the city that had Inquisition guards, but no one would have actually expected him to stay. Dorian stuck beside Korvyn as he left and sat with him in the carriage.    
As soon as the door closed, Korvyn threw his head back with a thud and gave a lengthy groan. “Uuugh, Maker help me, we did it. Do you know how badly I want to put my feet up right now?” Korvyn waited for no reply and let out another sigh. “Andraste preserve me, I can’t wait to just go lay down in a bed and sleep. Those people wore me out, but you’re probably used to it, huh? Even right now, I can’t believe how nice it feels to speak my mind like a normal person instead of like- Maker, one guy asked me if I had tried  _ talking _ to the Red Templars and I thought I’d pop a vein or something trying not to laugh - or maybe snap at him or something but- Josephine saved me multiple times, I have to admit.” He paused a moment and noticed Dorian’s silence, but stayed light-hearted. “And it’ll be good to get back to the familiar with one less event hovering over my head. Of course I’ll be moving west to see what Hawke is up to, but I’m hoping it’s nothing too terrible; we’ve been pretty on top of things lately. But, you know, after this decadence, it will be impossible now to convince anyone to come with me to the Western Approach.”

“I’ll go.”

Korvyn laughed, assuming sarcasm, until he saw the look on Dorian’s face. “You’re serious? I mean, you’ve deserved some rest at Skyhold, and it’s a quite a ways further than we’ve traveled in a long time-”

“I’ll go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I know I’m going to get angry comments but LISTEN - the next chapter will help.  
> -I also know that people might be thinking I’m being too coy here considering how Cullen was gung-ho to be in a relationship with a femme!Inquisitor, but the way these LI characters interact with their respective Inquisitor is miles away from how I think they’d act around each other, not to mention the dynamics of power, social standing, accountability, and intimacy issues.  
> Also:  
> -I’m aware that the game had Cullen in favor of Gaspard to keep “fair” opinions through the advisors, but the guy canonically tries to start war with Ferelden and despises the people. If the writers really think we’ll believe that Cullen supports Gaspard after the shit he pulls in the Masked Empire, they’re fooling themselves!  
> -Regardless of your own personal feelings of who should sit on the throne of Orlais, Korvyn would never be the type to wait - he would save the Empress’ life. And so, Celene lives to see another day.


	16. This Whole Time

Any remnants of a fading winter had stopped at the Frostback Mountains. The mild and quiet cold of Orlais was blown back, and the vicious winds of an ancient mountain path kept them humble and cautious. The spell of soft golds and shining floors was gone, replaced with bright sun and irritated horses. It was a physically long procession from Hilamshiral back to Skyhold with a hundred strong bracing against the icy gusts, but with a small station of soldiers and allies leading them, it was relatively quick. With recruits around, Cullen was expected to oversee them, which he did, so Dorian didn’t have a chance to talk to him. He hated to think that he was grateful for it, but he was. He had no words for him.

Dorian stuck by Korvyn’s side for a majority of the ride back, listening to him chatter on unbridled as he was wont to do. Dorian was curious what he was getting up to with Solas and rift magic, and Korvyn seemed to enjoy his new proclivity immensely. The Inquisitor had usually been seen in his traveling gear with the sleeves at his wrists ashy and burnt, but there was no trace of sloppy pyromancy anymore. He had learned how to very carefully control his magic and himself, far away from the Circle mage he had once been.

Before long, the large, grey keep loomed out of white mist and they could breathe with relief. Skyhold, however, was almost snowed in, and workers shoveled the paths while mages melted ice off the stones. Korvyn made clear his plans to immediately get to the war table for some hours, take a bath and sleep until they left the day after next.

“You say that,” Dorian said, “But I’d bet a sovereign that you’ll be out of bed after 8 hours and running around the place as usual.”

“Oh, really?” Korvyn said confidently, then paused, and thought better of taking that bet.

When the horses were stabled, the steps climbed, and the snow waded through, Dorian got to his room to kick off his boots and lay down fully clothed. He debated wandering to Cullen’s tower that evening. What would he even have to say? _Let’s forget the whole thing happened_ or _Do you want to try that evening over again_? The moment tormented him in its supposed safety; dancing had meant to be a fun gesture, not romantic. He kept pushing the moment out of his mind, even though he knew it would only recede like a tsunami, eventually crashing down in torrents. But not yet. it would be better to rest and get his head in order. His mind traveled instead to the things he needed to pack.

 

He started the morning late, catching up on sleep and enjoying a mattress that he wouldn’t feel again for a number of weeks. Despite crunching through snow up to his knees, it was a morning off to a decent start after a breakfast with Iron Bull and Sera to put him in good humor. They asked him about the Winter Palace so he gave them outrageous lies and they had fun pretending to believe it, egging him on. As he made his way through the main hall, he saw Josephine’s door open, and poked his head in to see the usual pile of notes on her desk had increased three-fold.

While she would normally put her quill down and give anyone her full attention when they walked in, this time she looked up over her stack of work and quickly moved loose strands of hair from her smooth forehead, writing as she spoke. “Dorian, good morning - is there anything you need?”

“Are you sure I shouldn’t be asking you that?”

“The result of a few days gone,” she explained, smiling through the stress.

“Can you not delegate the work?”

“‘Delegate,’” she repeated, as if it were a novel concept. She hesitated and said, “No, I’m afraid much of this is too important to trust in-” she interrupted herself. “Rather, it is best if I handle it.”

“I was only wondering if there was news from Tevinter.”

“Oh, of course.” She stood at that moment and turned to a basket of mail behind her. Josephine’s nimble fingers pulled out two letters.  

One was stamped with the Tethras brand in the wax rather than the Tilani house seal to pass unnoticed. Dorian knew Maevaris’ usual trademarks, however. He assessed it for a rune and, yes, it was there. She was very skilled with small enchantments and had cast a fire rune that would activate if not properly disarmed. He hovered his hand over the rune with the mist of an ice spell, where it glowed and picked up heat. He saw the drawn letter marked for containment, focused on it, and it popped with a small burn hole with the rest of the rune dissolving into a smoke stain.  
    Josephine watched with interest. “Is that a common practice for Magisters?”

“Only clever ones,” he said with a smile. He wished Josephine luck and moved to the library to read his mail.

 

_Dorian,_

_I’m sure it’s all terribly fun to be running about and killing barbarians in the south, but you know a letter would not go amiss every once in awhile beside Inquisition business - or will I have to ask my cousin to describe your affairs? Are you ever going to come north, or have you gone native? I can see the appeal of big, brutish men, but you know they don’t wash. You’re too good for any of them, which is to say: there’s a warm seat in my parlor just waiting for a sophisticated backside to occupy it, not to mention a lonely bottle of vintage Florentin in the cellar. Have I flattered you enough to pay attention?_

_My motions are all being blocked at the Senate, but Inquisition support has at least given them exposure. The Archon finally acknowledged the Venatori threat and publicly denounced them, which was more than we could have hoped for. As to your inquiry, Halward wasn’t giving up your notes - perhaps as a bargaining chip as you suggested, but he reasoned that your name is too high-profile in the south now and it could be easily intercepted. I suspect he has heard of such interested parties, especially after Alexius’ failure had them scrambling for anything Felix left behind. Only your written consent could send them out officially, and as you know, any eagerness to these notes will have everyone else eager to see them. As luck would have it, Aquinea decided to be contrary and physically delivered them to me, visiting in the guise of Orzammar contacts for Asariel. There seem to be extra notes as well that she had probably taken from your desk at Qarinas. She’s a smart one, your mum. I never quite knew her standing on things, but at least she has loyalty to you._

_Of course, I haven’t broken the seal on your notes- which will be sent along through another name that will be unknown in the south. Do forgive me for that, but he’s one of the few allies you have with the Inquisition and I could trust him with this task._

 

_Much love,_

_Maevaris_

 

Sure enough, Dorian knew the handwriting of the next letter. He had seen it evolve, after all, from their Circle days of doing homework. His stomach twisted, but he ripped it open.

 

 _Dorian,_ _  
_ _If Magister Tilani is contacting me, I can only presume this is something important to you. I didn’t ask questions. Expect files on Free March economics to come your way._

 _  
_ _Per Amicum,_

Rilienus  


“From a friend” it was signed. The motives of Rilienus were a mystery, the most likely being that he was just a decent person, which Dorian still found a little irritating. Maker, he hoped Rilienius’ wife realized what she had. At least Dorian knew that his notes would be transported in disguise. The lengths his few friends went to for his sake was baffling, but he also knew they had stakes in the Inquisition’s success. All of Thedas did, whether they knew it or not. Regardless, he would have a lot of favors to pull in for them. It was worth getting his work out of Tevinter when Venatori were desperate and in high places. He wasn’t sure, however, what part his mother was playing in all of this. She did like to be contrary to his father to challenge his ego, but perhaps she was earnest about helping Dorian, even if he was meddling with the Inquisition, of which she no doubt disapproved. He had no idea how much she had known about Halward’s plot, but perhaps she hadn’t known much at all. Did they even speak to each other anymore?

Reading the notes again, Dorian wondered if he ought to write back. The idea of Mae contacting Varric for details about what he got up to was a tease that bordered on threat, considering Varric would weave some horrible description and would absolutely exaggerate his friendship with Cullen.

Dorian pulled out parchment and got to work, writing to Mae and asking to send his thanks along to Rilienus. He also wrote a curt and formal letter to his mother that had little substance but would at least demonstrate that he was alive, though he tried to use the proper Tevene that she mercilessly had him study. It took him an hour to outline and perfect, and once he closed it with the Inquisition’s seal, he paused before putting the quill away. It was turning to evening soon, when he usually visited Cullen. Would it be rude to write a letter? Explain things? Ask things? His hand hovered over the parchment, but it was no good. Again, he hadn’t a clue what to say, as he hadn’t let himself properly analyze the whole moment that loomed like a shadow. There was still too much to do.

    He spent the evening packing, picking staves from Dagna, and grabbing more lyrium draughts and salves from the mage tower apothecary. Dinner had come and gone, and while there was still time to go to the Commander’s office, Dorian remembered the massive pile of work that Josephine had to sift through, and could easily imagine such a pile on the Commander’s desk as well. Best to leave it alone for now. There was time. They had time.

    Morning came, horses were loaded, scarves were wrapped on, and the party moved out. As ravens flew overhead through the gray clouds, Blackwall and Varric chattered on about jousting. A Grand Tourney was planned at Markham in following months and they wanted the Inquisition to join in. Korvyn, a Free Marcher himself, was sorely tempted and Dorian didn’t wonder if they would at least send a representative. Before they curved on the mountain path, Dorian turned his head, and on the battlements was the solid silhouette of Cullen, seeing them off safely just as he always had.

 

    Each morning they woke to more temperate weather and Dorian found himself feeling more awake and talkative. It was a long road as the weather became mild in the Dales, then warm past Lake Celestine, and arid as the greenery thinned out. They had to change into their lighter gear before they came upon rocky plateaus standing among fields of rough shrubs to red-streaked canyons as sandy winds swept over sparse grasses. Dorian had a loose scarf resting around his neck and head to keep the heat off of his black hair, but was otherwise not too bothered. By the time there was more sand than signs of life, they all began to sweat, but the warmth had been welcome. Even as the sun became hotter on the stones around them, Dorian could tolerate it as if he were transported to a summer’s day. Mostly it was the dryness that bothered him, since he was used to the humidity of towns on the water, but his companions were red-faced, thirsty, and too miserable to talk.

    “Didn’t you bring some enchanted robes?” Dorian asked, as the sun reached its zenith. “Heat resistance or anything?”

“It’s not enough,” Korvyn said, wiping sweat from his brow. Though not as pale as the others, there was a pink flush to his face. “And I’m saving the resistance potions and salves since I don’t know how long I’ll be out here.”

“Not for long if you’re that frugal.”

Varric held a notebook over his eyes to see farther ahead under the glaring sun. “I’m a little more worried about what the nights will be like.”

Windy and bitterly cold, as it turned out. The Western Approach had been described as a “cold desert,” and perhaps, comparatively, it was; but from midday to evening it was still scorching. There were rocky footings and scenic canyons that they walked through for shade, but there were also stretches of dunes between them, whipping them with dust and sand during the day and frost during the night. Camps that were not pre-established had to be taken beside the shelter of the massive orange rocks, and they had to be careful with fire since it could be seen for miles. The wildlife was larger than it had any right being in a climate so baron, and when a High Dragon was seen flying overhead, Korvyn ducked with a curse and announced: “No one minds if I ignore that, right?”

They were relieved when they found Harding and her camp and were able to sleep more soundly with other guards around. Korvyn seemed relieved to be back to business with something to keep his mind off of the climate. Once they set out, however, their first discovery was not a pretty one. They moved through caves packed with enormous spiders, raw shards of red lyrium, and desecrated, tortured bodies, leaving them all a bit sick.

“So this is how the adventure’s gonna be, huh?” Varric sighed.

“‘Adventure’ is a generous word,” Blackwall replied.

But it was when they made it to the other side of the canyon that they were left wide open. From an out-of-place grove of sparse trees, Venatori rushed toward them and the party dispersed. The greenery gave them some useful cover and with Varric throwing traps, their enemies were soon overwhelmed. With the noise they made, feral hyenas came to the scene to give them more trouble, but it distracted the warriors. After bursting through a magic barrier to cut down the remaining foes, the echoes of their onslaught carried past the high walls of an old grand entrance and down the canyon trail. The hyenas were still fit to fight, but they grabbed one of the corpses and ran off drooling, giving them no more trouble.

They caught a moment in the shade of the trees to catch their breath and looked up at the strange, towering ruin that was so foreign to the desolate landscape. It was clearly Tevinter, not unlike the Shrine of Dumat, but it was also tucked well into the cliffs in fantastic condition. Along with a natural water basin and trees for relief, it would have been a perfect place to camp.

“What is an old Tevinter fortress even doing here?” Varric wondered aloud.

“It could be a hideout, maybe. Or maybe before the second Blight.” Korvyn said. “It’s well protected.”

“Two layers of guards with a magical barrier in-between,” Blackwall observed. “It’s not subtle. They might have expected Inquisition scouts, and if that were the case, they’d have moved. It must be the excavation mentioned in Harding’s report.”

“If I wasn’t so curious about what they were guarding, I’d probably swim in that right now. Venatori ruin everything.” Korvyn’s gaze went from the standing water to the large, imposing door. It stood with an aged authority that must have meant to intimidate its guests.

“Shall we have a look?” Dorian asked.

 

The first thing they noticed was a demon and a Tevinter locked in battle; then, they saw that they were not moving - attacking, yet stopped mid-swing - with the ceiling frozen in a moment of collapse. It was an impossible scene of a second in time, suspended like a memory.They all paused in trepidation, weapons drawn.

“Dorian?” Korvyn whispered, and spoke louder when his voice did not disturb the scene. “This doesn’t feel like an illusion. Time magic?”

Discontent bubbled up at the truth of it, but how could it have gone so colossally wrong? “It . . . appears so.”

“This is what the Venatori wanted to keep secret,” Blackwall said, lowering his sword. “Why? To study it?”

They moved down the entrance steps behind Korvyn. “There’s an order here,” he said, picking up a discarded note on a nearby crate. “Recent. There must be more Venatori further inside this place for excavation. It. . . says this site predates the first Blight? How is that possible?”

Dorian gazed about the quiet room with the others, from the pristinely preserved ancient fighters, to the open and doomed canopy. Light of the day was still coming in from the wrecked walls, with debris casting accurate shadows to their own placement in time. “At the height of the Imperium’s power, I’d say some ancient magister tried to play with time and it had it backfire.”

“So Alexius wasn’t the first to get there, huh?” Varric asked, and as soon as he said it, Dorian recalled that Alexius had found files of a sort that related to a magister studying time magic before the original Dreamers, but it was through blood magic. Had they gone south, to here? The whole thing left a bad taste in his mouth.

Korvyn nodded and walked forward. “That would explain the rift here. They probably didn’t expect that as a side effect either.”

“So, these are ancient people locked in an ancient battle?” Blackwall asked. “Inquisitor, you weren’t planning on. . . fixing this problem were you?”

Korvyn looked around, taking in the demons who were locked in an eternal screech, to the crumbling ceiling that hovered over the room. “On the one hand, their being frozen in time doesn’t seem to have created any other source of. . . distortion; does that seem right, Dorian?”

“At first glance, this rift is the only presumptuous evidence we have. But the Venatori did find it somehow; perhaps a source of power that is keeping everything in stasis.”

“So on the other hand,” Korvyn said, gazing pointedly at the caving beams “This problem might just figure itself out if we set motions back into place. Hold on though-  should we. . .?” He paused. “I mean, these are ancient magisters, but they’re just defending themselves - maybe we don’t have to kill them.”

“That thing you’re thinking,” Varric warned. “Might want to rethink it.”

“It’s possible they’d have something important to say, right? This is a lifetime opportunity. . . ”

Dorian was not offended by the thought as much as impressed that Korvyn was more anthropological than fearful. “There’s no guarantee that they’ll survive any time you set forward - barring the building falling down around them _and_ the demons, their forms have been held together for a thousand and a half years. If you start time, it’s _possible_ their lives and bodies were preserved, but the fact that we can walk through this hall means that time itself hasn’t completely stopped, just been altered. They may just as easily blow away into dust.” Korvyn gave an almost disappointed look, but Dorian continued. “If it makes you feel any better, they were supremacists who enslaved most they came across, many of whom would be sacrificed in massive blood-magic rituals to appease their dragon gods. The very fact that we’re even seeing them is a result of some power-hungry gambler who didn’t know what they were doing when they tried to alter time. Best not to make friends.”

“At least this was the result, rather than a success,” Blackwall said.

“They did succeed, though, didn’t they? Eventually?” Korvyn added. “They were able to get to the Golden City.” They all felt how eerie it was to be standing in this living portrait of the past, before any Blight had spoiled Thedas. A reality that was never meant to be seen again.

“The demons will most likely survive,” Blackwall added. “So prepare for that.”

They carefully walked around the fixed battle, towards the next set of doors across the room. There was no sound but the steps they made, no breaths but the ones they took.

“Any of these look like your ancestors?” Varric smirked to Dorian.

“My ancestors? They probably made it to the Fade and became cursed as darkspawn, as the story goes.”

“Is that what an Altus gets to brag about?”

“The part that’s glorified was before the first Blight - that my ancestors were _the powerful magisters that could speak with the old gods_ ,” he imitated with emphasis. “What the Pavus’ of the past got up to isn’t clear, only that they existed. Perhaps they didn’t go to the Fade themselves and were instead slaughtered during the Andrastian conversion - new leaders had to remodel the place, you know. In any case, first generation Dreamers didn’t die in their beds.”

“Well shit, is there _one_ good story that comes out of the Imperium?” Varric asked.

“Me, of course.” Dorian grinned

“Oh, good.” Varric smirked back. “We’ll see how that one goes.”

“Not bad so far.”

“A bit short-sighted, from where I’m standing,” he punned.

“But you’ve got the best view.”

Past more steel doors, Venatori were there as expected, but Korvyn’s party had the advantage of surprise. Half of them were scholars unfit for battle and Dorian couldn’t help but think what a waste it was for brilliant minds to be so misguided. Smart enough to get some lightning past his barrier, however, and give his left arm a good burn. As he grimaced, he saw the Enchanter pursuing him specifically. “ _Die, you traitor,_ ” she said in Tevene. He used the metal on her own clothes to call the lightning back as she cast it toward him, and she was struck down. High Tevene was the language of the educated, and it gave him some sick satisfaction to be so personally hated by the Venatori and their snobbery.

With the excavators out of the way, the ruins were once again quiet, and they had to figure out how to advance toward the power source. The Venatori had begun the work of solving the keystone door, so it was not long before the party had them gathered and stood before the newly unlocked room. They didn’t know what they were going to find within, but with another breath, Blackwall opened the door.

It was bizarre to see the blood magic in motion, yet still; splatters of blood were aloft, in circumference around a staff. The staff was channeling energy, or rather, reversing a channel of energy. It gave off a strange feeling; an absence of flow from the fade, manifested as a dark, spherical void. Someone had tried to rip open time, and someone else had simultaneously reversed the process using the staff as a linchpin.  
    “ _Yeesh_.” Varric made a nervous, disgusted noise and Dorian could feel the implications of it. Once more was evidence of the audacity of Tevinter mages; once more was proof that time was too fragile to be tampered with. It was a damning edict that left Dorian quiet as the others moved about the room to inspect the scene. He was still calculating and perfecting his own time spells. If Cullen had seen this, would he have still kept Dorian’s ability a secret?

“So this is what the Venatori wanted to see,” Varric said, giving furtive glances to the strange, black disk of nothingness that held time still.

“Yes; the ritual would be written down nearby so they could use it.” Korvyn bent down to some open books beside the circular dais.

“If we move that staff, the hole could reopen,” Dorian warned.

“But this is being maintained by the Fade,” Korvyn said, inspecting the void that reflected and absorbed energy eternally like a black mirror. He hovered his hand around it as if he could feel some heat. “It’s. . . not unlike a rift.”

“Do you think you could close it? Would that stabilize it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Korvyn said. “The reverse ritual looks like it’s already been cast. You think the freezing is just a side effect?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Blackwall said a quick, silent prayer to the Maker, and Korvyn let energy build in his hand. He gripped the staff with his anchored palm, sending up a ripple of Fade magic that burst over the black sphere and snapped it closed with a force that blew them back in a gust of residual power. The blood of the ritual immediately spilled and turned into a black stain on the floor. The air became musky with raised dust.

“Oh. That wasn’t so-”

A great crashing of rock shook the room around them and sand blew in from the crack of the door. They held onto the walls as the tremors passed quickly, ending with the jagged scraping of rock over sandstone.

“And that’ll be the rest of the place,” Varric supplied.

“Let’s see who survived.”

“Hold on,” Korvyn said. He picked up the ritual book with his other hand and looked to the others, then at Dorian. “Should I?”

Dorian grimaced, but it had to be done. It was just one small potential success that may have lead to the breaching of the Fade and entrance to the Golden City. He nodded, and Korvyn sighed.

“I really hate doing this,” he said, and let flames erupt in his hand to curl over the pages that lifted up into smoke. The book became a handful of ash in Korvyn’s palm and fell to floor.

The screech of a demon outside had them on their guard once more. With the new staff still in hand, Korvyn led the group out to battle the demons that awaited them.

 

With the time distortion sealed and the rift closed, the site was now another toppled ruin. They stood in the shade of the grove, and Korvyn watched a large cloud of sand and dust still rising into the air. There had been no sign of the ancient Tevinter bodies, but it would still be beneficial to let scouts survey any implements that may have survived. He turned to Dorian with the ancient staff in hand, inspected it a moment, then held it out to Dorian. “What do you think?”

Dorian looked it over. It had some poor sap’s yellowing skull at the top, but was ornamented with grasping tendrils of branches. He held it sideways - perfectly balanced, of course. He ran a current of energy through it, and veilfire erupted strongly from the eyes with little effort. “It’s of excellent make. The fact that they used someone’s skull means it might have been a blood-magic ritual - or it was a respected elder. Hard to get into the mindset of the ancients sometimes. If you mean to trade it to someone in the Imperium, you’d make a fortune, especially if you found out whose relative this head belonged to.”

“What’s the word on the side?”

“Ah, it’s an ancient form of Tevene. I don’t really know this alphabet.” Minrathous had its own specialists in ancient Tevene, but Dorian had never cared for the subject. “‘Snow,’ or. . . ‘storm?’ It almost looks like the word for ‘tempest,’ but it could be another word completely. Maybe it’s the fellow’s name.” Dorian brushed off the translation that was out of his depth.

“‘Tempest’ is an impressive name,” Blackwall said, his sword leaning against him. “You should call it that.”

“Do you want it?” Korvyn asked Dorian.

“Do I- . . . Are you sure?”

“Well, it’s from your culture. I know they weren’t the best of ancestors to have, but I feel you’ve more right to it than me. It was even strong enough to hold the time anomaly in place. If it can help you direct your spells easily, than it’s worth being in your hands,” Korvyn said. “I mean, maybe you should have Dagna look into it for safety, but it seems like it conducts well to me.”

“Well,” Dorian said, looking at the unique staff. He wasn’t sure what to think of it yet. Whatever its origins, it had at least been used to stop the tearing of time. That kind of strong magic left its memory on things. “Thank you.”

“If it creeps you out too much you don’t have to take it, but you have to admit you’d look scary as shit raising up dead people with it.”

“The truth reveals itself,” Dorian said, as Varric gave a quick laugh. “I get to be the _scary Tevinter mage_ at your back?”

“Er, yeah?”

“You know,” Dorian contemplated. “I’ll take it.”

 

After another freezing night with a crisp morning, they moved farther west to meet up with the Champion of Kirkwall. Dorian was curious to meet her, and her figure greeted them under a canopy of high rock. It was not an easy landmark to miss, as she waited beside a massive canyon that stretched horizontally over a mile wide. Its enormity was almost dizzying. Dorian could not see the bottom as he approached, and even as they moved closer to the edge, there was no sign of the crevice stopping. Up the otherwise beautiful formation was the black and sickly purple of blighted land, streaked downward to oblivion, as well as up and over the canyon ridge like a thick black mudslide - where Darkspawn had crawled up during the second Blight.

“The Abyssal Rift,” Blackwall said. “Never thought I’d see it for myself.”

“I’ve been staring at this big ugly pit for a while now,” Hawke mused. “But it is an excellent place to throw bodies.”

“I’ll uh, keep that in mind,” Korvyn said with a lopsided grin. “Nice to meet up again, Hawke.”

Hawke gave him a nod and then kneeled to give Varric a gripping hug. She was as tall and muscular as Dorian would expect, and could give Cassandra a run for her money, but it was her quick, wicked grin that truly warned of being a rough adversary. The desert had worn into Hawke; her short hair was shaggy from sanded winds and she had sunburn and tan in equal measure where skin was exposed. She looked the party over, pausing a moment on Dorian as if she had seen him before, but that couldn’t be right. “Glad you’re here right when you’re needed. I would have let you rest up at your camp longer, but Stroud is up ahead and he’s sure some weird shit is about to happen.”

“What kind of weird shit?” Varric asked.

“The whole reason so many Wardens have shown up here. They’re scattered, but some are being led, even with sightings of demons.”

“You’re joking,” Blackwall said, with no ounce of humor.

“Spell-binding. Maker, how many Venatori are out here? It’s an infestation,” Dorian said. Corypheus already had the Templars by the neck, and the Venatori on a leash; how many Wardens were they going to try and rein in? Korvyn looked grim.  
    “This all started happening very recently,” Hawke said. “We need to move out now.”

 

It was a dismal sight. Grey Wardens sacrificing their comrades for demonic spell-binding was not in the least what any of them had expected. When Erimond so graciously bowed to them at their intrusion, Dorian had half a mind to send the discarded Warden bodies up and after him so he could feel the responsibility of his actions. Korvyn stood his ground, glowering, and demanded answers that the puffed-up magister was only too happy to give. Erimond’s ease came with the mind-manipulation of the Wardens around him, and the strange red power he conjured in his hand. There was a fleeting moment where it seemed like Erimond might injure the anchor on Korvyn’s palm and the party was ready to attack, but their young Inquisitor stood up in defiance and burst the connection with a sharp crack of his flexed fist. Dorian had not seen that sort of anger on his face before, and as the magister fled, they were forced to attack the Wardens he had just enslaved for his own purposes. It was a gruesome business to cut them down, but the respectable people they had once been were already gone.

They respectfully laid their bodies out and piled the wooden wreckage nearby to burn them. There was a moment of silence, and Hawke turned with a snarl. “Well. Cocks.”

“Yeah,” Varric agreed. He looked to Korvyn who watched the flames. He was holding his arms close to himself, almost as if he was sick. “You alright?”

Korvyn was about to reply, then closed his mouth and took a deep breath. “At least my brother isn’t here.”

Dorian felt his stomach sink and Hawke blurted, “Your brother is a Warden?” Kovyn’s hands went to his face and his chest moved into another deep breath.

Dorian walked closer. “Korvyn-”

“I’m okay,” he said through his hands, and wiped his eyes quickly. “He’s not here. That matters.”

He was very much not okay, and Hawke spoke up. “That prick Erimond doesn’t have all of them, Inquisitor.”

“The Calling is leading them here.”

“But they have a _choice_ to engage in this ritual,” Stroud said kindly.

“If their Warden-Commander is demanding them to, then it’s not much of a choice.”

“I made my choice,” Stroud said. “As amateurs to this blood magic, some of it may not take.”

“They don’t know shit about blood magic,” Hawke said quietly in her anger, and Dorian turned.

Korvyn turned as well, his eyes deep and guarded. “Is it true that you’re a blood mage?” he asked. Dorian had never heard this rumor before, and turned to Varric who was completely neutral.

“I’m a mage,” Hawke replied carefully. “Who knows how to use blood magic, though I don’t use it much anymore. It’s tricky, and slippery, and very personal - but of course its usefulness will always be abused by power-hungry magister assholes like that,” She said to the spot where Erimond had stood. She turned to Dorian. “You’re Tevinter aren’t you? You probably know what I mean - there’s a difference.”

Dorian let the curtains fall behind his eyes. “I don’t need blood magic,” he replied darkly.

Hawke shook her head, exasperated. “No one does. But I wonder if my own skill might be able to, I don’t know, maybe _reverse_ some of it-”

“Are we really talking about the usefulness of _blood magic_ after what we just saw?” Blackwall exclaimed.

“Do you think you could?” Korvyn asked immediately to Hawke. Hawke paused, but she conceded with a shake of the head. Demonic contracts were just that.

“They would be heading to Adamant, Inquisitor,” Stroud said. “It’s an abandoned Warden Fortress days from here.”

“Then we need to head out, too,” Hawke said.

Korvyn was sobering up quickly. Like Dorian, he had no time to really think about Hawke’s blood magic, as long as she was on their side. “Some of the Wardens are still scattered; should we not find them?”

“They’ll be obligated to follow Warden-Commander Clarel,” Stroud said. “But I do wonder how many others would turn from this madness.”

Hawke put her hands on her hips, but Varric spoke up. “How about we take a break with some food and talk this over together?” He really did have the better view.

  


They managed to formulate a plan. Hawke and Stroud would move toward Adamant Fortress trying to find Wardens who were not yet corrupted on the way there. Within a decent perimeter, they would have to assess what was happening and gather intel. They were all winding down and despite the urgency at hand, they had this short moment to rest. Stroud and Blackwall had turned in for the early morning.

“While we’re heading north, we’ll send you news, Inquisitor. We can meet up with you at Skyhold.” Hawke leaned back onto her palms. “Hopefully your Commander can pull together a competent army. Seems like this is the direction that’s going to go.”

“More than competent,” Dorian added, in defense of Cullen.

Hawke peered at him and then grinned widely. “Now I know you. You were the mage hanging around his office.”

Dorian didn’t remember ever seeing Hawke at Skyhold, and he never knew he was being observed “hanging around his office,” but he conceded with “Well, that sounds about right.”

“You’re friends with Cullen,” Hawke said, disbelieving. “A Tevinter mage is friends with Cullen. Templar Cullen. ‘Mages aren’t people’ Cullen.”

“Skyhold’s resident odd couple,” Varric said, grinning.

“Yes, it’s grueling work,” Dorian said, deadpan. “He can’t help but Smite every mage he sees. Terribly inconvenient. Pity that he trains them and works for one.”

“No need to be cheeky;” she grinned. “I’ve known him longer than you. If he’s a new person, then _good_. I’d like to meet a new Cullen. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget the old one, though.”

“Fair enough.”

Hawke stretched her neck. “Thinking about the Gallows makes me sick. Apologies for doubting your peers, Inquisitor.”

Korvyn had been staying out of the argument. “That’s alright.”

“He’s used to it,” Dorian added with a gesture to himself.

Hawke caught the implication and turned to Dorian with a smile. “You’re not half bad for a Tevinter mage.”

“People keep telling me that,” he said. “Maybe the good hygiene throws them off.”

Hawke stuffed dried fruit into her mouth and spoke with it full. “It’s the mustache.”

“Stroud has a mustache.”

“Well yeah, but his is large enough for two people; twice the manly responsibility.”

“Twice the suspicion if you ask me.” They were smirking at each other and Dorian could see that while Hawke was rough around the edges, she was still easy to get along with. The more they spoke, the more surfaced that her “blood magic” was not the art of the Maleficarum; rather, much of it was the work of personal blood spells that enhanced her own magic rather than using the Fade. It was still looked down upon in Tevinter as a cheap way to get extra magic, but it was not so unusual or so shunned. In the south, however, all use of blood meant a step away from demon-binding. Hawke had learned a bit more of it from her Dalish girlfriend, but it was dangerous to use anymore after the Breach.

“How are the girls doing, by the way?” Varric asked.

“Keeping the bed warm while I’m gone, I expect.” She replied. “Merrill was trying to gather more research on her mirror, and Isabella was up for the adventure. They’re in Antiva for a while; I didn’t tell them where I was going or they’d follow me. I hope they’re at least having a good time.” She punctuated this statement by emptying the sand from her boots. “But I expect you and Bianca are having your own fun out here.”

“If it’s not Venatori, it’s Red Templars or Demons. We’re well-occupied.”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to add too many Wardens to that list.”

 

    The next day the party split as Hawke and Stroud had left to journey farther north of the wastelands,while korvyn and his crew took their time to claim Griffon Wing Keep from the Venatori. As recruits moved in as early as the next day to the new fortress, Korvyn received a message about a special assignment in the Hissing Wastes involving the Chargers. He worried it might hold them from moving towards a hidden oasis that more Venatori were sniffing out. Neither were particularly pressing missions, so they decided to split further - for Dorian to lead the mission with the Chargers alongside Krem and then return to the keep. It also meant that Dorian would finish up earlier, and he could choose whether he wanted to wait at the keep and go back as a group, or head out early with some scouts to get back to work at Skyhold. He had returned from the Hissing Wastes a sandy mess after helping with dropping half a canyon on fifty Venatori, with Krem and the Chargers leading the freed slaves to safety, and mage-killing duo Tessa and Marius were off to more assignments from Leliana. It had been quite a few sunny days of travel to and from the Hissing Wastes to the Western Approach, but despite the difficult landscape, it was incredibly beautiful. He had returned to Griffon Wing Keep by evening, and was greeted by Cullen’s friend Rylen.

“Another day in paradise,” Rylen said, grinning as Dorian shook his headscarf free from sand.

“I’ll take it over eastern Ferelden, if I’m honest,” Dorian said, tossing himself into a seat in the soothing shade.

“Bandits and varghests aren’t as bad as the diseased dead, but I’d take dead over Darkspawn.”   

“Darkspawn?”

“Been spotted northwest of here. We haven’t engaged them - can’t risk Blighted recruits.”

“Maker, there’s no end of trouble out here.”

The shadows became longer and Dorian started to wonder whether it was best to wait for Korvyn’s return. The Inquisitor had also wanted to swing by the Hissing Wastes on his way back, in case there was word from Hawke and Stroud, but that pair was bound to run into their own set of trouble. Atop the flagged terrace, Dorian looked east over the endless landscape. It was an orange sky with streaks of pink clouds, and the plateaus cast long shadows out to the dunes. Out there, many many miles as the crow flies, was another fortress covered in snow rather than sand, a Skyhold tower with a candle burning and boots pacing. His mind wandered off and it seemed, now, he really had nothing but time to think. Of course, it was time for the waves of it all to come crashing in. What was he going to do when he returned to Skyhold? With everything happening - Corypheus, the Venatori, Warden mages being controlled by blood magic for Maker’s sake - it should all feel so inconsequential. What did it matter for one mage to wonder about his feelings for someone else? On the surface, perhaps it did seem trite, but he wasn’t just a pawn to play on the Inquisition’s board.

He liked Cullen. He knew this already. He was sweet and considerate, which was a nice bonus considering Dorian had fucked around with handsome men who were twice as rude. It seemed apparent that Cullen liked him too, if his behavior at the Winter Palace was anything to go by. In fact, a lot of his behavior seemed obvious in hindsight; It was all stacking up. Some part of Dorian wanted to quibble over _why_? Why walk away? Was it nerves, second thoughts, being swept up in the moment, responsibilities to the Inquisition? Yet what did the motive matter when the result was the bloody same? What did Cullen want from him? And, maybe Dorian should have thought earlier, what did he want from Cullen? To be thrown onto a bed and have the breath kissed out of him, sure, but he also knew, in a deep place that he had had since he was a teen, that he would never be satisfied with that attention if he were tossed aside after. Why was that such an unattainable goal? Dorian never got to know if he was capable of more. He hadn’t been allowed that option, and now he was certain that if he tried, he would irreparably damage any feelings that were presented to him.

Well, it had been nice, hadn’t it? Dancing so close to him and feeling his hands on his back, his face. He could think now, on the safety of the Keep’s roof, that it was lucky that they were able to stop things before they started, because his mind had run away from the hurt of the incident. He was surprised at how bruised it left him. In that moment that Dorian had closed his eyes, he had waited for Cullen to confirm that some of what he saw in his smile was real, that their pulses beat quickly for the same reason, that, maybe, they understood each other; but as soon as he walked away, Dorian knew that he had offered up entirely too much of himself. He had watched his back leave and a small, pathetic thought had asked: _Don’t you want me?_

It was humiliation and - he had to be honest with himself - it was rejection. Dorian had been down this avenue of thought before - it was how he reconciled possibilities. The thought “ _What’s the worst that can happen? Being turned down?_ ” was what got him through many advances and he had been shot down plenty of times. For whatever reason, this one stung a little deeper than the rest, but he would have to move on.

There was no helping some of that hurt, but there was still the chance to find that easy footing between them. Just what _was_ he doing, brooding out over the desert? _Pining_ ? Dorian Pavus didn’t _pine_ ; he seized opportunities and moved past what couldn’t suit him. That was it. If the Commander wanted a friend in Dorian, then he would be an excellent friend. He would not lose what they had cultivated for so long, and he certainly wouldn’t blame Cullen for his own misplaced expectations.

It was good to get away, he told himself. It was partly his fault, he knew, but the strange tension with Cullen had taken up a lot of his thoughts and he needed some space to stretch out his normal personality, think it out, and fall into old rhythms. He would just have to return to Skyhold and be as cordial as always. What did his pride matter, when he wanted his friend back? It was time to return.

   

//

 

Cullen was haunted. It could be simple things some days, like the slamming of a door in the wind, or a scream from Robin and her friends as they ran through the snow. He would start, take a breath, and continue on, but it was always in dreams that those memories caught up to him. Pain; scratching; pleas for help; the smell of human gore; a barrier of magic. He would wake, trembling, and pace the room before he was able to lay back down. As the symptoms calmed and the headaches subsided, he could finally sleep. Dorian appeared only once after a dream where Surana had freed him, and the Tevinter mage had stood in the doorway, watching apathetically. Cullen went to him, cradled his face between his hands and said, _I’m sorry, Dorian, I’m sorry_ . Dorian just stared at him and said, _Prove it_. Maybe he wasn’t haunted - but cursed.

When he woke under the snowy roofs of Skyhold, a calm settled as most moved indoors after morning drills and late-winter’s cold left the courtyards muddy. It had taken a while to balance out the backlog of work, but Cullen found his pace, and he would soon see to the recruits himself. The keep was subdued with the absence of Korvyn, Varric, and the Chargers, and especially sluggish for Cullen being down one friend. He went for many more walks than usual despite the snow, and he became another guard on the battlements, looking down the mountain paths even though he knew they expected no return for a while.

On a roundabout path through the keep, he came upon Robin who had become much taller than when he last saw her, alongside Cole. They were both crouched at the snowy stone steps near the tavern, petting a ginger cat between them. It was a spot safe from the wind and the smell of baking apples lingered. The girl was bundled up, but like most enthused children, she didn’t seem to mind the cold. They looked up at his approach.

“Who’s this?” Cullen asked, and Robin answered.

“My cat, Copper.”   

“Did you find him?”

Robin raised her chin defiantly. “No - he came to me.”

“Alright.”

Cole said casually: “Commander Cullen is hoping you’ve been staying out of trouble.”

“Yeah,” she replied.

“And you’ve spoken with the Lady Seeker?” Cullen asked.

“Cassandra won’t let her train yet,” Cole replied.

“Don’t tell him that!”  
    “I’m sorry,” Cole said earnestly. Of course Cassandra would not train a child, but they had let Robin ask herself.

“I still have a practice sword,” she said, petting the cat almost aggressively. Copper drooled.

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to grow up.” Robin didn’t quite seem to take his meaning, so instead he asked, “Do you remember what _I_ told you?”

She held up a fist with the thumb on the outside and gave a shy smile.

Feeling better, Cullen continued toward Leliana, making his way through the main hall and up the steps, but he lingered a moment on the landing of the library. It was strange to see it empty. He could see that the books Dorian had specifically put aside where piled on the chair by the window. Cullen walked to the abandoned pile, curious. _The Imperium in Flames, Advanced Application of Rune Segmentation, Corpus Scriptorum - Carastes IX,_ and the alarming title, _Death of a Templar_ . He had notebooks and scrap-paper left on the desk as if he had stopped mid-thought, and no one in the library had dared to touched his work. His precise handwriting became scribbles when his mind worked faster than the ink, and there were strange markings and mathematics in the margins of notes. Cullen thought he knew Dorian decently well, but there was still so much of him that he didn’t understand - the work he put in and the passion of his craft. _It is so ingrained as to who I am that it has its own gamut as any spread of emotions_ \- Dorian’s words. Looking around at his possessions, and the space that Dorian had carved out for himself, he could tell that there was a ferocity in his pursuit of knowledge that would make him feel isolated in the south; but there was other evidence around him - of the fellow library patrons that left his work undisturbed, of those that would come to his space for a question, see that he was not there, and sigh to move onto their own research. Dorian was convinced that many at Skyhold disliked him, and perhaps that was still true; but there was a small community that accepted him so naturally into their ranks that their indifference was a result of neutrality rather than disdain.

Cullen did not touch the papers that must have been essential to some tarrying thought, but he moved aside the capped inkpots, compasses, and blank papers into some state of order. Cullen felt it more strongly than before - he missed his friend terribly. The essence of him was there, but his person was not, and the empty, unlit desk only emphasized his absence. Cullen felt the light of him gone.

It was strange to have any sort of free time that wasn’t occupied by Dorian. Of course they could always find other things to do and other people to talk to, but they generally preferred each other’s company. And now, of course, Cullen was afraid that he had offended him permanently. Perhaps Dorian had felt that he had been lead on - and why wouldn’t he? Cullen _had been_ leading him somewhere, but couldn’t even commit to it. He knew himself too well; that he was always all in or all out, and if he didn’t stay out of the business of romance, he would crash into it.

It could be, Cullen still reasoned, he was only flattering himself and Dorian had given up on worrying over such a thing, already rolling his eyes and moving on to slay more Venatori. But he knew very well regardless that Dorian was someone who needed his space. As the one slighted, Dorian would have to come to Cullen at his convenience, if he ever bothered to talk to him again. It was bad timing, he knew, and Cullen had hoped that something small was there, something that maybe they could try when the world wasn’t on their shoulders and wars didn’t press in around them - but that time might never come. The Dragon Age was predicted to be an era of upheaval, and even after Corypheus, there would be more to tackle; he was sure of it. Was there a point to waiting? Or was he going to care for someone, only for them to be taken away? _Maker_ , he scolded himself, _This was why. This was why you didn’t want to get involved with anyone_.

As news slowly trickled in from the Western Approach, the advisors met over the war table like usual, and the contents of the letters left them appalled with each new sentence. There was going to be a confrontation. Whether Hawke and Stroud could confirm things later or not, the fact remained that there were already respectable Wardens co-opted by Corypheus and they would have to make preparations for a battle - it was a question of where and when and at what capacity. They could only guess at what perimeters they would be working with until Hawke and Stroud reported back.

The advisors stood gravely around the reports and began to move away to get to work. Cullen went to the chapel first. He didn’t want to think about the corruption within the Wardens, or the raising of demons through blood magic, or Dorian being assigned the leader of his own mission in the Hissing Wastes where something could go terribly wrong. Those precious moments when he could kneel before Andraste and clear his mind became essential, but he never left satisfied. He wasn’t sure whether he prayed because he was devout, or because he felt guiltier than most, but everything negligible was pushed aside. He kept thinking, _later, later, later_ . _Worry about personal matters later_.

At an attempt to feel like a normal person, he asked Cassandra to have a drink with him. Neither of them were overly-comfortable with tavern chats, but it had been awhile since they had been able to catch up, and the second floor was more private.     As soon as he saw her tired posture, Cullen knew this was a good opportunity for Cassandra to wind down. She had made her own preparations to leave to Caer Oswin when Korvyn returned, with the corruption of not only the Wardens but also the Seekers weighed on her mind. The demands of the Chantry for Cassandra and Leliana to go to Orlais for the Divine candidacy was so inopportune that the Inquisition was basically ignoring the request outright. Cullen wasn’t sure how this possible position was going to strain on Cassandra.  
    “Have you spoken with Leliana about it?”

    “Not really, but I’m sure she feels as much as I do that it’s somewhat out of our hands.”

    Cullen tapped his fingers on the table’s wood, thinking. “Do you think Korvyn will have the final say?”

    “It’s possible,” she said, looking into her drink. “Well, he would offer support behind someone, which is almost as good as deciding.”

    “Maker, we’re carving through more history than I ever imagined.”

    “Did you think it would stop with the Breach?”

    “I thought it would stop with peace talks at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.”

    Cassandra spared a smile. “I admit, I never could have expected things to come this far.”

“Who could?”

The bard played some new music he hadn’t heard before, and Cassandra visibly eased up. “Thank you for pulling me away for a while. It’s been dull waiting for Trevelyan to get back.”

“Do you need any help sparring?”

“No, Iron Bull has been offering. I suspect he’s bored without his Chargers here.”

“I wonder if Dorian could handle them,” he mused, though a little spike of anxiety hit him and was then gone. No, Dorian could manage anything Korvyn assigned him. He paused a moment, and the bard played prettily on her mandolin: _Enchanter, come to me / Enchanter, come to me._

“If I might ask, what is it about Dorian?” Cassandra asked.

“How do you mean?”

“You _know_ what I mean.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes.

Cullen felt himself smile nervously with the sudden rush of heat at the question. She watched him flush over his flask and he wasn’t sure how to answer. “I . . .don’t know.”

“Cullen.”

Of course she knew him better than most. He was surprised at how he hadn’t realized before that she was someone who might understand, or at least present an outside view of the subject. But it was never _just_ Dorian. It was a lot of things. Circumstance, for one, which could not be discredited. He also recognized something in Dorian - an optimism, despite the dire situation, but also, a loneliness that had reflected back at himself; like a dark well he could not see the bottom of, lurking somewhere behind his eyes. Other times there was no trace of darkness - he was all shining gold light of humor, like a warm mead spread from the heart to the fingertips. What was it about Dorian?

He knew what he had wanted Dorian to be. He wanted Dorian to be a balm to his torments; a reprieve of friendliness in the storms of stress. But Dorian had his own worries, and Cullen felt better when they could just admit when the situation was shit and then work through it. It was the old tradition of writing your wrongs on a piece of paper and burning it to scatter ashes up to the stars; leaving it out of your hands and up the Maker. He never lifted Cullen up into shape, but rather, told Cullen that he could do it by himself - and Cullen could believe him.

But how could he care for someone if it was always placed second behind his duty as Commander? Especially if things went sour between them, his service would be all he had left. How could he care for someone who constantly risked his life for his own duty? It would crush him if Dorian fell in battle; and he couldn’t imagine how much worse it would be if he allowed himself to love. That wasn’t any feeling he could explain to Cassandra.

Cassandra watched the changes in his face and Cullen felt himself age quickly. “There’s nothing.”

“There is.”  
    “Maybe there would be,” he confessed, and it was agony to admit. “But now is not the time for such things.”

Cassandra straightened up, and spoke with conviction. “Perhaps it is the best time, since you don’t know what may happen tomorrow. When has love ever had perfect timing?”

Cullen broke into a sweat instantly. “I’m not in love.”

“You might try,” she said earnestly. “To die wanting is probably worse.”

“Who’s to say I’ll live or die?”

“Yes, who, precisely?” she asked, and Cullen was moved by her sudden energy. He had never taken Cassandra for a romantic, and he wondered if she spoke from some wisdom of observance. “You can do whatever you want. I understand if you feel that it could become a distraction to your work, but surely you know that you can allow yourself some happiness and still be true to your duties. I think you’ve proven many times over that you’re capable of working through anything.”

He was struck and humbled by the compliment. So much of what he had denied himself hinged on the importance of his commitment to the Inquisition, yet Cassandra felt it was no problem at all - Cassandra, who he had trusted to observe his capabilities for a reason. Some part of him still said it was a delusion, but others seem to see what he felt. At worst, Dorian would always do an excellent job of pretending nothing untoward ever happened. And at best? _“Are you afraid to think about what you want?” “Yes.” “I’m not.”_ He let himself imagine, freely, what it might be like. For some reason, he thought of Dorian’s hands, and then his laugh. Part of him thought of the dream, but - no, more than that. To be able to seek him out without pretense; to be able to have a conversation in between shows of affection; to smooth down the pains of the other with care and unashamed tenderness. It was worth it.

    Cullen was silent in revelatory, bewildered thought and Cassandra gave him that moment. Slowly, he said, “I wouldn’t think you would be one to encourage this, if I’m honest.”

“Dorian is . . . not so bad as I had assumed,” she admitted. “And I also know that you are loyal to the Inquisition first. I cannot say it’s easy to dismiss, but you have changed. Perhaps in a way you haven’t noticed yourself.” Cullen’s pulse was still racing at the possibility that it wasn’t too late for things to be salvaged. “The Maker has only shown you a path. Do what _you_ need to do.”

 

The next day, recruits began announcing an approach, and he didn’t need to wonder who it was. Cullen watched as a figure in white and two figures in green came in from the mountain path, moving up and over the Skyhold bridge into the courtyard. He could always imagine Dorian in his mind’s eye, but there was never accounting for the realness of him; how he had a natural elegance, how precise he kept his hair and mustache and how sharp he kept the black lines around his eyes. Always a keenness of dress that reflected the architecture of his creativity. He was considerably darker from the desert sun; a brown that was stunning in his gold and cream robes.

    Dorian glanced up to see Cullen there, but was immediately distracted by a question from Charter who had come to greet him and the accompanying scouts for news. They spoke as his horse was taken away, and they moved into the main hall.  For all his insistence on giving Dorian space, he wanted so badly to go to him at once. Cullen could only watch them leave and compose his feelings. That’s all there was to it; he would have to be patient. He walked to his office, nodded to Jim, and continued working.

 

//

 

Dorian had convinced himself so easily that he could just fall into how things were before, joking and flirting and being none too serious. He had almost anticipated it as he rode the path to Skyhold - to go back to seeing Cullen and leaning on his desk as the fires burned on. Yet as the trail became cold, the snow piled up under a grey sky, and he approached the white capped towers, he knew immediately that it could never be that easy. How in the void was he going to walk up to Cullen and pretend to his face that everything was perfectly fine? It wasn’t. He felt an immediate dread at the truth - that he was going to have to be a damn adult about it and talk with him.

He immediately started to notice a high energy at Skyhold despite the cold. Cullen must have promoted Gerander, as she was leading drills for recruits, and the influx of ravens and the sound of multiple anvils in use meant that they were indeed beginning the preparations of amassing troops. The nerves sat heavy in his stomach as he came back to the muddy Skyhold courtyard and the Commander oversaw their safe passage inside. Dorian had to write up a report, of course, but he had done a bit of that while on the road. It was messy and he would have to transfer it, but that didn’t take as long as recounting the details.

Dorian sat down to drink cider and get warm by the fireplace of the main hall while lost in his thoughts. Several anxieties were all vying for attention, but there was comfort in being back at Skyhold with its warmth, its bards, its wholesome foods. He went to the landing of the library, lit the candles, and saw that his desk had been tidied up in some way. On his pile of books was a sealed and large folded envelope on Free March economics. Dorian opened the package immediately and saw several more sealed envelopes inside. He tore the top fold with his thumb, flipped through them, and there they were: all of the painstakingly hand-written notes on applying magic to spatial fields and time itself. As he continued to flip through the papers, here and there were Felix’s own comments helping with the difficult mathematics and Dorian felt a sudden sad fondness for his dear friend. It ended up being the last significant work Felix had contributed to.

There were more files of older notes - the ones, undoubtedly, that his mother had compiled from his old desk. These were old half-baked ideas that he hadn’t had the time, experience, or patience to fully develop. There was potential there. Even some of the old, sentimental work he had kept was there, like the page-turning spell, written with a childish hand, and Dorian could see right away where the mana reserve was miscalculated. He smiled to himself as he looked through the work with so much memory attached - good and bad alike. If only he could reach back to that boy and tell him that things would get messy, but they would sort out eventually. What might it have been like to even have a mentor like that?

Dorian moved pages aside to come to the frenzied yet meticulous notes he had continued while he had been captive in his family home, and felt his insides freeze. There were breakthroughs on these pages, as he had worked day and night. Those were a few, terrible months that he had been confined and he busied himself with the difficult studies of Alexius to keep from snapping or killing someone to get out. It was another swath of time that he didn’t much remember, after that explicit memory of escaping blood magic. He had left a great deal of wreckage when he escaped.

He stared at the pile of notes a moment, feeling the heaviness in his hands. These were dangerous notes; dangerous enough to risk the subterfuge of friends in order to return them to his possession. Was there too much power in what he was stripping away and revealing? The vision of suspended droplets of blood, circled around a dark, obstruction of time in those Still Ruins came to him, and Dorian altered his gaze to the very hands that held the notes, where all it would take would be a command of flame to decimate it all  forever. A pause; and the realization of the heat in his palms at the memory. Best not to be too hasty. He wrapped the notes back up and planned to keep them hidden in his room. No one but Maevaris, Rilienus, and his mother knew that these notes were here, and only Maevaris knew their true significance. He would look them over, and decide whether or not it was something worth improvement or sentencing to complete obliteration.

With this power in his hands, Tevinter came to mind; in all its corruption, its politics, its revolutionaries, its perfumes, its lower classes who wanted better, its slaves who could not ask for more, and the swaying of power at the Magisterium. Korvyn had already done so much in the south - enough that even the powerful houses of Tevinter were bothering to take notice of him as a figure that could emerge victorious from incredible odds. The name itself, “Herald of Andraste,” must bring to mind the Exalted Marches of the past. _And,_ Dorian wondered _What could I do_ ? Of course there was always the possibility that he might return to Tevinter, but as he began to think on it, how could there be any other option? He had seen and experienced enough to know the power of the few. Bureaucracy was a hard wall to face, but it wasn’t impossible. If he and Mae could cause a ruckus. . .  
    Dorian blinked, and realized that there were still large enough problems here that needed handling. He went to his room, hid his notes, and sat on his bed. He was a little surprised that he had been back for several hours without Cullen reaching out to him in some way, but Cullen had also not reached out to him before he left for the Western Approach. He had to talk to him. He stood up, paced to his bookshelf, then moved to sit back down. Okay, another try then. A deep breath. He really did not want to face rejection again, but it would be okay - a step forward. He changed into fresher clothes of black and gold that would keep him warm, gathered up his spilled feelings, and tucked them away.

    He opened his door, and he should have known better with his sulking who would be there. “Hello, Cole. See something interesting in anyone’s mind lately?”

“Hello Dorian. Why are you so nervous?”

“Nervous? Who?”

Cole pointed at him.

Dorian grinned. “I’m not nervous, I’m. . .”

“ _What if no one learns to love me?_ But Dorian, why is it worse if someone does?”

Dorian felt as if he had been slapped. He closed his door quietly, as Cole regretfully said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it worse. . .”

Dorian sat back down on his bed and put his head in his hands. It wasn’t about that. It wasn’t about _that_. It wasn’t about the broken places inside of him that would all be swept out later. Not right now. He pushed those rabbit-hole thoughts away and composed his objective. Right. Talk to Cullen; accept his rejection; return to a cordial friendship. Good. Great. He gazed at the door, behind which always held more than he could ever be certain about. . .and what about after the war? It wasn’t impossible.

Cole was gone when he opened the door again, and he let his feet take him back to the the library window first. The sky was turning white, ready to snow, but guards and recruits lingered around the battlement over the Skyhold entrance. Dorian turned his eyes to Cullen’s usual spot for privacy. Sometimes he could barely see him in the shadow of the tower looking over the lands below, if he stood far enough to his left. The height and angle meant that probably only Leliana could fully see him, if she bothered to move from her roost. Everyone was busy. Dorian should have made himself busy too. But he moved down the stairs instead.

Across the bridge in the frigid cold, Jim stood at the door, but before Dorian could greet him he spoke: “The Commander is only taking runners today Ser.” It wasn’t Dorian’s imagination; Jim was insufferably loyal. Of course, he was just doing his job.

“I understand, but he’ll let me in.”

“You can leave a message with me, Ser.” Cute.

Dorian fixed him with a look. “Level with me here, Jim, won’t you?”

Jim had his arms crossed in a moment of internal debate. He knew, surely, that he wouldn’t get in trouble for letting Dorian through, but he must also know that Dorian could fade step into the room if he wanted to, and he was just being cordial. Jim gave an almost imperceptible sigh, and stepped aside. Dorian patted his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

No Cullen inside. So he was taking a break. Dorian opened the side-door to see that familiar fur mantle keeping the cold off the Commander’s shoulders. As Cullen turned from the view off the ramparts, his face had a natural expression as if he only expected another runner with news. He blinked at seeing who it as, and slipped on a surprised grin that stretched his scar. Maker, Dorian had missed this man’s face.

“Dorian,” he said, dazed. A pause, then, “I’m glad to see you.” It was a genuine statement, the warmth of which made Dorian smile and eased him away from the door.  The golden light fled when he closed it. Cullen’s body language was halted, as if he had turned to take a step forward and thought better of it.

Part of Dorian wanted to banter: _brooding like usual?_ To just go back and forth like it was routine Inquisition business and they could go inside and play Chess - Chess! How long had it been? - and no difficult conversations had to happen. As tempting as it was, he was too tired of pretending around Cullen. The air between them was already charged. “You didn’t come find me,” he said by way of reply. It was not angry or accusatory, just stating a fact.

“Were you not busy?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, walking up beside him. “But so were you, which is exactly why we meet up. We help each other.”

He turned away, and Dorian could feel that double-meaning in his words. “I’m sorry; I was. . . everything’s become more complicated.”

Dorian also looked out over the snowy cliffs. “Something’s on your mind, Commander.”

A pause. “Yes.”

“But you’ve no interest in sharing it.” Dorian wanted to be grandiose, demanding - he wanted answers; But in the cold of winter, tones came out softer, quieter, and his energy was becoming subdued.

“Honestly, I’m thinking of how to say it,” Cullen said quietly, and Dorian felt something significant at his tone. What was this? Dorian was tired of his hopes, his doubts, his overthinking. He wanted the abolition of secrets, but everything kept inside him felt like it would have to be mauled out; bursting through an icy lake to get to air.    
    It didn’t have to be closed barriers and forceful exposure, did it? In a bed made of understanding, their friendship had created space that was safe to foster honesty. Maybe both of them just needed to air things out in order to grow out of it. Maybe it could be as easy as peeling fruit to find the flesh beneath, gleaming and raw as a summer’s day. Maybe it could be freeing. In the softness of fresh falling snow, it was easy to forget.

“Cullen,” Dorian hadn’t said his name in a while, so smooth in his mouth. It was comforting to see his warm, amber eyes again, and a strange hope was stepping forward. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter. Would your thoughts happen to include me?” Cullen was coloring rather quickly. He understood, then. “Things . . .felt differently at the Winter Palace. It felt like there was more you wanted to say or do - and I would hear it, if you just told me.” He had seen how he responded to Dorian's touch, how gently he moved. He wasn't sure if it was the wine or the company that put him in better spirits, so he gave him a chance to make a decision. He seemed to have made it, and yet. . .

"I’m sorry for how I acted. It wasn't. . . It didn't feel. . . " He swallowed. "Appropriate."

"Is that how you feel?" His chest tightened waiting for Cullen's reply, but he could brace himself. It didn't have to hurt. Soft white flecks were gliding down around them.

Cullen turned to him. "I need to know how _you_ feel, Dorian."

“All on me, is it?” He had to be gentle with not getting his way. He could feel, at least, that Cullen was ready to remain friends, and maybe they could laugh about it. “Alright. If I’m honest, I probably like you more than I should, but I can back off if that's what you want. I won't be offended. I would never want our friendship compromised by something so ridiculous.”

Cullen looked taken aback, as if he had finally reached the conclusion of his suspicions. His hand went to his neck, and the nervous smile returned. “You- really?”

“Cullen.”

“No, I- This whole time, I still couldn't quite figure out if you were serious or not.”

Dorian huffed and turned his body back to look out at the frozen lands below them. “Well, neither could I.” Cullen gave a small laugh, and Dorian felt some relief wash in, though a little embarrassed. “I’m glad this is a joke for you.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re laughing.” Dorian smiled too.

“I’m laughing at myself,” he said. “You know, I had a dream with you in it,”

“Me?”

“I said I was sorry, and you told me to prove it.”

“That does sound like me.”

“Dorian,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t back off.” Cullen’s hand went to the nape of his neck and he leaned in to press open lips to his. Dorian inhaled sharply. It was a quick, hot graze of chapped lips, unexpectedly gentle. Cullen pulled back ever so slightly; they were breathing each other's air, coming out in clouds of white.

Dorian’s mind was suddenly wiped clean. He looked at Cullen’s nervous face for just a moment before he let his hands move up to the warm skin of Cullen's neck to pull him back in. It was every “what if” breathed into life and every ache palmed into relief. He let his mouth ease Cullen’s open do a slow and thorough job of what he had wanted to do for so long, and Cullen made a pained noise that thrilled him, pulling him closer. Now Cullen was in his hands, and he wasn’t going to let go.

“You had better not walk away this time.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Feeling Cullen's smile against his lips was intoxicating. It was so strange and satisfying to finally do this. How could something so new feel so natural and obvious? Some doubt in his mind flared in warning; that nothing was ever this easy or simple. But right now he only knew one thing that he wanted. Cullen’s hands glided down to his waist, and he could feel the stubble on his chin with each soft press of his warm mouth. This was very real.

"Dorian," He said his name almost as a groan and Dorian wanted him to say it like that again. "Maybe we should-?"

"Take this upstairs?" Dorian moved his lips around Cullen's pulse and it seemed to render him speechless. The thought of getting him someplace more private became extremely urgent. Maker, what he could do to this man. He wanted too much all at once.

At Cullen's slight hesitance, Dorian looked up. "Are you alright?" To see him as such was better than expected. Flushed, hair askew, damp lips, nervous hands, but all-smiling. They both had to steady themselves a moment but they held onto each other.

“This is-” He smiled, but his nerves were getting the best of him. "I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Dorian, but this is a lot all at once."

"I understand." Dorian's hand reach up to Cullen's cheek, thumb tracing the scar on his lip. Cullen leaned into the touch and Dorian paused at the intimacy. The slight and slow descent of snow was picking up, and flakes were falling quickly. It was going to soak their shoulders, but they were keeping each other warm. He let his hand lower to Cullen’s neck. "Is this . . . strange?"

"It's not, actually. It's just-"

"New."

"Yes," Cullen’s eyes roamed over his face and he gave a small smile. "Though I admit, the mustache is different."

Dorian huffed a laugh. "Is that a suggestion to shave? I won't take it."

"Not at all; I'll get used to it."

They both seemed to pause at that implication. How was this going to proceed? It would have been easier to just get carried away and let the pieces fall where they will as he had always done, but the strategist in this operation made things a bit more complicated.

Cullen gave a sudden sigh. “What are we doing, Dorian?”

“I’m not sure. Is that so terrible?”

“I don’t think so, but . . .”

"Listen," Dorian started carefully, "Let's just lay this down - We don't have to change anything. We're still friends. And if you want to be friends who occasionally put their faces together, that's okay too."

“You mean. . . just see where things go?”

“With everything going on, we don’t exactly have the luxury of a plan.”

Cullen sighed into his neck and when he kissed under Dorian’s ear, Dorian closed his eyes and figured that maybe snow wasn’t so bad.

“We’ll have to stop,” Cullen said, his voice humming along Dorian’s jaw, but he didn’t. Dorian lowered his hands to Cullen's neck, then shoulders, and Cullen slowly pulled away. "You're welcome to stay inside."

“Is that a good idea?”

Cullen grinned. "Just talk with me. I . . .have to go to the war table soon, but you can tell me what you’ve been up to."

    The heavy burden of memory started to encroach on his mind after the lovely few minutes of not having to think about much at all. He wanted to stay there a while longer, to indulge himself with Cullen and pretend there was no war, but the cold was biting at his feet and reality was calling him in.

He followed Cullen to the door and the warmth of the small room immediately welcomed them. It was cozy as always, as if no enormous shift in perspective had just happened right outside of its door. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself, so he sat in his usual chair and used his scarf to get some of the melted snow from his shoulders and neck. Cullen didn’t sit, but leaned his thigh against his desk, facing Dorian. They stared at each other a moment.

“It seems you fancy me, Commander.”

“It seems that way.”

“How em _barr_ assing.”

Cullen crossed his arms in mock irritation, but he smiled. “Maker knows why.”

Now that he was somewhat in his right mind, the part of Dorian that had been subdued by being rebuffed was now smug and shining with possibility. Cullen had never been out of reach, he had been there the whole time, and Dorian was starting to remember every ridiculous hesitation along the way. He had to know: “What changed?”

Cullen put a hand to his neck. “I had thought that it would be better to wait until everything was over, but I realize now that there may never be a perfect moment.”

“You’re balancing priorities, you mean.”

“That’s really not the word I want to use,”

“But it _is_ the word to use,” Dorian said, unoffended. “I understand that; I have my own commitments.”

“I suppose I felt that. . .It’s not fair to the Inquisition if I can’t be in top form, but it’s also not fair to you if I can’t give you what you need.”

“My needs,” Dorian said. “Are not that difficult to please. Though I am still sore about the Winter Palace.”

Cullen smiled, but he had the decency to look scolded. “Maker, Dorian, it was the worst place possible.”

“Surely not the _worst_ place.”

“Well . . . I’ll have to make it up to you,” he said quietly, and Dorian felt it stroke down his back. A runner knocked and entered, coming by for a signature and breaking the spell for a moment. Cullen loaded a quill from his desk and signed the order, but Dorian was still scheming. There would be so many ways to pull the sarcasm from his mouth. Could he push him against the wall and let his hands roam? Could he come back that night, peel off his armor, make him forget his name for a while? Could he learn what sound he made as Dorian put a bruise on his pale neck? He was impulsive about what he wanted; he knew this, but Dorian also had to remember he was with a friend this time. Somehow that made it easier, despite the risk. As Cullen listened to the runner, his eyes flicked to Dorian, who saw him blush under the scrutiny. _Yes, I’m thinking about you_. He could play this game all day. As the runner left, he said, “I did receive a letter from the Countess-”

“You’re joking.”

“-saying how nice it was to meet us.”

“We should send her wine.”

“Ser,” Jim had partially opened the door. “Sister Nightingale requests your presence a quarter after.”

With clarity, Dorian realized that this was how things were going to be. He had many things to think about that evening, but if he were true about it, he wanted to spend it with Cullen, even if he did have to report to him at some point. A stifling thought started to seep in, and he thought: _priorities_. The heaviness of having to return back to reality gripped his stomach and Dorian tried, delicately, to elaborate on some of what he had seen at the Western Approach.

Cullen listened as he usually did, but Dorian was not able to lighten the seriousness of the problem. He recounted the moments with the enslaved Wardens, how Korvyn had a Warden brother, that Hawke knew blood magic (“Did you know?” “After the fact, yes, I knew”), and how he helped to stop Venatori in the Hissing Wastes. Dorian stopped for a moment before telling Cullen about the Still Ruins, but he did, and Cullen was more assured by the fact that it was blood magic and not the skill Dorian practiced. Cullen eventually had to answer his summoning to the war table to discuss the letters of the evening and make plans for compiling allies. There were armies to prepare, and Dorian had his own battles ahead, besides dangerous magic scripts to study in his room. They had been allowed their small moment of leisure, and now it was time to pack it in for more hard work.

When Cullen moved to leave, Dorian saw the Commander move back into position; the missions, the expenses, and the preparations settled back onto his shoulders. His eyes looked far away, his mouth straightened out, and he became a soldier once more. Dorian stood before him a moment, and looked to the closed doors of the office. “I don't suppose - something for the road?”

The grim weight on him lifted just a little, as Cullen smiled shyly and moved his hand to tilt Dorian’s chin up ever so slightly. Dorian could still feel that smile as he kissed him.

“I’m glad I get to do that.”

“So am I.”

He turned to leave just as another runner made their way through. Dorian heard the addressing of “Commander” from multiple people as he walked on, out into the snow.

He had no idea what any of this meant for them yet, but for now it was enough. He belonged to the Inquisition, but at least Dorian had him for a little while.

 

/ /

 

“You turned my runner away yesterday, Commander - did you have a chance to catch up this evening?”

“Yes, sorry about that. ”

“I understand. After a long day, a walk on the ramparts is a good way to clear your head. I do it often, myself, outside of the rookery. You might want to keep that in mind.”

Cullen paled as Leliana’s implications struck him dead center. She gave half of a smile and continued the meeting as Josephine walked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:_  
> -one of the moments you’ve been waiting for :P But don’t get too cozy.  
> -in regards to Mae’s letter: If you didn’t know, Maevaris was widowed to Varric’s cousin so they are related by marriage. Also, Asariel is the Tevinter holding/property that Halward and Aquinea are Lord and Lady over, even though they own an estate in Qarinas which is across Tevinter! I also feel there aren’t enough clues about Aquinea to know about her involvement with Halward’s blood-magic. We only know that she’s strict and drinks too much, which isn’t much to work with, but she could very well have been in Asariel while it went down in Qarinas. We just don’t know!  
> -I realized that the Tempest staff is described as being Avaar in its codex right at the end of writing this chapter. I don’t know how an Avaar staff would have ended up in ancient Tevene desert ruins but I’m not going to retcon my fic over it.  
> -I also honestly have no idea why the Chargers went without Iron Bull to the Hissing Wastes in Magekiller #4, so I’m pretending there is some reason we just don’t know about. If you want to know what happens, you can probably find a synopsis on the DA wiki.  
> -Also. . . you might have to think of this as an early Holiday present, because I am about to get very busy and it may be a while before I get the next chapter up. Thank you all regardless, and if some miracle happens in which I get some time before December, your humble writer will keep working on this fic. Until then, I made a tumblr at thieving-magpie-writes.tumblr.com and I can answer questions and talk about things there


	17. The Great Unraveller

The night continued to grow colder, and the wooden doors groaned against stubborn winds. After the brief advisor’s meeting, Cullen moved through the biting air to return to his empty office, where the scent of Dorian still lingered. The comment by Leliana loitered in his mind, but she seemed so nonchalant about it that he wondered if she even cared at all, except for the opportunity to tease him like a sister. That night, as he turned over restlessly in his sheets, he took himself back to the moment, wondering if his mind wasn’t tricking him.

He had been shivering from cold and nerves, but was anchored by the heat of Dorian. “ _ I probably like you more than I should. _ ” It didn’t feel like the time or the place, yet it was so perfectly natural to pull Dorian to him. To take his face in hand and and kiss him slowly was like some dream that strayed into reality. He didn’t know how to adjust with something so extraordinary happening only hours before. Cullen looked to the empty side of the bed, dark and disheveled, and part of him thought he should have invited Dorian to stay - he had offered, after all - though another part of him thought he should know better than to take that risk so quickly. He didn’t want Dorian to think that was all he was looking for. Would he even know what to do with Dorian in his nervous hands? He had to keep his head on straight, because when it came to Dorian, something complex reared up, demanding to be addressed, but he didn’t have the understanding to tackle it - a strange coiling like a snake, almost dangerous. It was unfamiliar to lose sleep over confusion and intrigue instead of determined stress, yet the duties of the next day began to settle in his chest, subduing its previous flutter. There was still so much to do.

It was not yet dawn when he rolled over to the side of the bed to sit up, the cold settling on exposed shoulders. He tried to rub sleep off his scratchy face and tired eyes, raking fingers through lopsided hair. Battling with the sheets all night had left him feeling like a human bruise. He let himself pause a moment and feel the dry, cold air, reorient himself, and remain Cullen for a little while longer. He hadn't thought of himself as a different person from his position, but somehow the gap had grown wider. Secrets made it wider - the feelings he did not say, the pain he did not show. . . and Dorian. Two parts of him were working in tandem, but he had never meant to secret half of himself away. All in stride. Someday he would live more honestly, but that didn’t matter at the moment. A trickle on his lip came away red, and Cullen got up to stop the slight nosebleed. Winter was holding on desperately, and it was going to be another freezing day. He went to the frigid water of the basin, poking a finger through the cover of ice and wiped away the blood with a towel. That certainly woke him up. Well, better time than any for a shave. 

 

The Commander was with the recruits as they were finishing up breakfast with the rising sun. Haring was closing fast, and it would be First Day soon; it had been hard to believe after the crisp weather in Orlais, but easier to grasp for the recruits who brushed frost from their armor. The sun cast gold over the snowy peaks, offering relief from the painful chill, and they got to work. Soon, the morning became loud with chatter, metal on metal, and piercing mountain winds.

“You’re leaving yourself open on your right.”

“Ser.”

“Turner, watch your footing. Why is your left hand down?”

“It’s still wounded, Commander.”

He knew that. How had he forgotten? His thoughts were fuzzy. “Very well,” he replied, and continued guiding other recruits. They were a good mix. Cullen provided Templar-style training as a baseline, but the experienced fighters brought their own techniques; a hodgepodge that was unpredictable for enemy expectations. Strange; they hadn’t taken in many new recruits, but some of them were unfamiliar. Cullen had always made an effort to know many of his recruits. With a sense of dread, he looked to the drill leader and realized he couldn’t recall her name. It was on the tip of his tongue, yet it had somehow been plucked from his mind; his memory refused to offer it up. 

He was off again. 

Cullen turned away a moment and closed his eyes to concentrate, trying to force open some sort of connection. He met Turner at Haven - Templar sister - went to the Hinterlands and - arrow to the forearm, of course. His drill leader was Ferelden - from West Hill - Gerander. He opened his eyes and the thoughts almost flew away but he strained to keep them focused. 

This was far and away worse than usual. If he had slept, the symptoms wouldn’t be so bad. Why hadn’t he slept well? He had been thinking about - about what?  _ Dorian _ . 

He shook off the slight panic. It was temporary; it always was. He was just going to have to think a little harder for the day. 

 

//

 

It was common sense for Tevinter Circle mages not go to sleep upset - to read, to meditate, to do anything that wouldn’t invite trouble in the Fade. As it was, the Fade was hitting hard. 

Dorian woke up in a strange mood - a bad dream he couldn’t remember, perhaps, but the core of him was sore with an abstract loneliness. It was thick and sour in his chest. He turned over to sleep again, but odd memories were keeping him awake. He couldn't think of why his parents were on his mind, particularly that early life when he was lonely around the Qarinas estate. 

It was a large, ancient place; an unsuitable museum for a child. His mother’s friend’s children were polite to him, and the slaves were kind to him, but he was usually bored. At that time, his only hope for relief was a sibling or a friend. He remembered practicing Tevene at the table in the study, where his father was looking over documents after a particularly tense exchange. His mother had left the room in a huff for some reason he couldn’t understand and it worried him. “Father, are you and mother not friends?”

“What’s this about?”

At that age, he hardly knew what it meant to be accused of ulterior motives in his words, and was confused at how adults could get so waspy at simple questions. “I wonder if you and mother are friends.”

“You don’t have to be friends with someone to marry them, Dorian.” 

“But I thought I had to be friends with whoever you pick for me to marry.”

“You’re worried about not getting along with her? There’s plenty of time for that.”

“No,” he sighed. Why did adults always do that? Jump around in the conversation? “It just seems different. . .” 

“In what way?” His father said. 

“I don’t know. . .” He didn’t know how to say that they didn’t act how lovers were supposed to act. How the lovers in stories adored each other, would do anything to marry the other. Once they got married, is that what happened? They achieved the goal, then forgot about the other and went about their lives? 

“That’s nothing to fret over, Dorian. You’ll understand when you’re a husband; now keep practicing,” Halward said, and took a glance at Dorian’s work. “ _ Dominus servos bonos habebat _ , not  _ Dominus bonus servum.  _ Do you remember your vocabulary?  _ Duco, ducere- _ ”

“ _ -duxi, ductum. _ ” 

“Good.” Halward spared a smile and picked up the document in front of him in dismissal of the conversation. The discussion came around again when he next saw his mother. Over the large sketches she had been studying, her necklaces hung like purple dew on spider web. Her magic was strong and hit like a stone wall, and she balanced it with a delicacy of dress in fragile chains and lacy sleeves. Dorian had been very polite all day, kept out of trouble, and when he went to her room she knew he wanted something.

“What are you up to, darling?” There was only one person in the world she called “darling,” and Dorian was glad he was the one.

“Can I have a baby brother or sister?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dorian-” 

“I promise I’ll be a good brother.” Dorian remembered, sorely, how desperate he was to ask. “Please? I promise I - I’ll share everything and watch over them.”

“Like how you watched over your bird?”

“I didn’t know the window was open. . .”

“Dorian, having a baby is a lot of hard work. Besides,” she said, and took Dorian’s face in her hands. “You’re my baby.” 

“You and father don’t want me to have a brother or sister?”

“Me and your father,” she said rigidly, “are focusing on  _ you _ right now.”

“You aren’t friends, are you.”

“We’re married. That’s all that matters.”

“But what about when I’m married?”

“Then you’ll have a beautiful and powerful wife, who will be your best friend in the world, and I’ll be jealous that she has my baby.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because everyone loves you.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and sent him away. 

For a long time he had been nervous about impressing Livia, hoping that he wouldn’t live the rest of his life with the same sharp air that existed between his parents. Was this what he had dreamt about, poisoning slumber into sharp fleetings of sleep? He knew should be analyzing it, but Dorian rolled over again instead. What was there to analyze about a family that manipulated one another through him? It only made his stomach turn.

Faintly, he heard a bell chime nine times, but he didn’t move. Breakfast would be over by the time he made it to the hall. He pulled the covers over his head. He could just sleep longer; maybe suss out some answer to his feelings as he drifted off. He had to think of something calm.  _ Cullen _ . 

He remembered, suddenly, what had happened the evening before and a warmth spread through him. How easily he had forgotten, when there was no man beside him as a reminder. Under the sheets, he shadowed fingers over his jaw where Cullen had put his lips. Finally, he knew what they felt like; far too gentle for a soldier. He wanted them everywhere; he wouldn’t mind the scratch of stubble. It was no longer the unreachable dream that he had tried to soothe himself with for months. “ _I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Dorian.”_ _How long? How long have you wanted?_  “ _I had a dream with you in it.”_ _What did we do? How far did it go?_ He wanted all of his confessions, now. What did he see, when he saw Dorian? What did he think about; what did he want to do? He was squirming at the thought, his heart beating with possibilities. If it was narcissism, he didn't care. 

With renewed vigor, Dorian sat up.  _ Don’t get stupid _ , he thought. It was normal to gravitate to attention, but research didn’t happen when the mind was occupied. But still. That ridiculous blushing smile was reserved for him.

By the time he looked his usual best, people had already finished moving snow from the gardens below. The breakfast had been cleared away when Dorian walked into the hall, but there were always convenient foods for snacking. With a handful of date plums, he watched from the top of the steps at the hall entrance all of the goings-on of Skyhold. Vivienne was with the merchants in magnificently tall boots; Solas and Cole were with the wounded refugees; Cassandra and Iron Bull were getting an early spar in. He waited longer, and finally saw Cullen walk in through the entrance gate. Some soldiers milled about to welcome guests, and armor-clad Templars - well, ex-Templars - moved with Cullen into the square. They seemed worn ragged; the last of those able to have mobility with Samson’s operations out of the way. Cullen met them, no doubt giving them a run-down on how things worked at Skyhold. Hopefully they were prepared to mingle with freed mages, but the fact that the Inquisitor himself was a mage generally gave them that expectation. The party moved in slowly, some of them still had blood or scorch marks on their armor, and a few mages walked in with them. Hopefully they were companions, rather than wards. How quickly things could change.

Two Mabari tread in to sniff around and Dorian saw Cullen’s attention move immediately. The owner stood back and let Cullen scratch one’s neck, while the other became jealous and barked for equal attention. The group was laughing and talking about something, but it couldn’t be heard from his distance. The earlier thoughts of the morning were far away; the contrast of where he was envisioned to be was so different from reality. Thank the Maker. He didn’t know when he realized, but he would take this over fortune and prestige, any time.

“Cute little flea-flingers,” said a voice. There was only one so playful in all of Skyhold. 

Dorian turned. “Remind you of anyone?” On a ledge of the roof, Sera watched down at the square as well. “What are you doing up there?”

“Watching you watch your man.”

“He’s not my ‘ _ man _ .’”

“Aw, no? Sorry to hear it,” she said genuinely. “Got so many men under him that he needs one over him.” She giggled impishly.

“Now there’s an image.”

“If you wanna laugh about it, you should see the  _ loads _ of letters Josie’s got from those Orlais pricks about Cully-Wully.” 

That got an instant smile from Dorian. “Are you joking?”

“Glad I’m not. Flowery tosh about how badly they want to rub bits.” She leaned over her knees. “She wouldn’t let me open his  _ personal _ letters. No fun when you know he’s gonna toss it straight in the bin. ‘Less you get him to open them.” That  _ was _ too good to pass up. Dorian remembered the flock of masks that surrounded Cullen, high on their own importance and desperate to show it of - to a man who couldn’t care less. What kind of flirtatious atrocities awaited on paper in Josephine’s office?

“You know. . . I may have to play delivery boy.”

“ _ Knew _ you’d be in on it. He’s sweet on you anyway.”

“Details and drinks later?”

“If you’re buying, fancy-pants.”

 

//

 

Cullen felt a little better after seeing Mabari, but more than anything, he just wanted to sit down to stop the pulse in his ears. He was glad to see the ex-Templars coming to them for help and aid, though he recognized the tremble in their hands; blinking back the sun from pressing headaches. They had the same affliction, though there was lyrium at Skyhold for them, helping and hindering in equal measure. 

A note from Leliana’s runner on his desk confirmed that the Inquisitor had only been a few days behind Dorian and would most likely arrive the next day. Hopefully he didn’t bring bad news with him, but it was never  _ if _ there was work to be done, but  _ when _ and  _ how _ . They were not yet confirmed to move on Adamant, but war-machines were being built up for preparation of whatever might happen. They would have to gather troops as they moved west. . . 

Through the working hours, Cullen stopped several times to close his eyes and concentrate on where in the void his mind was going, taking leaps from one thought to the next. He finally leaned back and wondered if it would be so terrible to sleep in his chair for twenty minutes, but more documents in front of him sat unread and unsigned, the small lettering taunting his guilt. A pattern knocked onto the door of his office, and when he gave a tired “Yes?”  it opened. Cullen stood up with a fluttering of papers when he saw Dorian walk in. 

“At ease,” Dorian said, amused. 

Cullen was dizzy, and only managed an eloquent “Hello.” 

Dorian moved through the room with his usual grace, wearing rich maroon robes with black and gold trim. They fit him snuggly, and Dorian quirked a smile at his undoubtedly foolish expression. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m - of course. How- How are you?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” he said, pulling at his sleeve hems. “Thinking of someone kept me awake.”

Seeing him now, Cullen could hardly believe Dorian would let him touch him. He had deprived himself of looking at Dorian for so long - of even thinking too much about him, he wanted to memorize what he saw. It felt  _ good _ to have a source of admiration. Maker, he was staring, but Dorian only smiled at the attention. His eyes flicked to his desk at last. The dynamic between them had changed, but not by that much _ ;  _ he had to control himself.

“Busy today?” Dorian asked.

“Always. But not insufferably.”

“Then maybe you’re due for a break - Jim barging in every ten minutes doesn’t count as one, you know.” 

“Don’t worry about that. Everyone is now required to knock.”

“Is that by coincidence or prerogative, I wonder?”

Cullen grinned. “Only a timely suggestion.”

“Oh, is that all?” he asked innocently, but moved on. “I saw you with our new furry guests this morning.”

Cullen felt his mood lift even higher. “Gorgeous, aren’t they? One of them isn’t trained for combat so she’ll stay at Skyhold while her master’s gone.” They were Mabari sisters from the same brood and he knew he would probably be visiting them the same way Trevelyan went to the stables and spoiled the horses.  

“You’re not adopting it are you?”

“No; she has a guardian. Mabari are more loyal than most men.”

“You don’t have to live up to a stereotype, you know.” Dorian always seemed amused by rustic southern conventions, and Cullen was amused to unapologetically accept his roots. They were back to banter, and it offered the comfort of familiarity.

“I don’t think I’d trust a person who didn’t like Mabari.”

“Putting me on the spot?”

“No; I’m sure you’d grow to like them if you met them; even if they would compete for your attention.”

“Maker, forget I asked,” he said, mock-offended. “I come with a gift. Beside my presence, of course.” He held up folded and sealed papers. 

“Letters?”

“From Orlais.” Orlais? When had he been to Orlais? . . . _ The Winter Palace and those horrid people _ .

“Maker’s Breath, how did you even get those? Throw them in the brazier.” 

“Come now, if you’re just going to toss them away, why not read them first?”

The grin on his face told Cullen all he needed to know. Dorian wanted to tease, and Cullen would half-heartedly object, since he liked him too much. “Are you here to torment me?”

“Absolutely. Where’s your sense of fun?” Dorian moved forward, and Cullen could only focus on his proximity. He sat on Cullen’s desk, facing him, as if daring him to move closer. He picked up a letter opener. “Shall I?”

“Go on then. You’re going to do what you want anyway.” 

Dorian put a hand to his chest theatrically. “I’m asking.”

“There are easier ways to get my attention.” 

“Hm. Don’t I know it.” He tilted his head slightly, and Cullen wondered just how transparent he was. Their tone, their looks. . . somehow the energy had become a bit more charged. As Dorian ripped the expensive parchment, Cullen picked up a document on his desk, pretending to ignore Dorian’s reading, but his wicked smile and small huffs of entertainment as his eyes flashed over the letter drew his curiosity. He had the same scent that he had worn at the Winter Palace.  _ “ _ Look at this one-”

“Andraste preserve me, you don’t have to read it out loud.”

“ _ ‘The pious mission with which you are most gloriously burdened certainly has you engaged in Andraste’s holy work, though if even an evening could not go amiss in Val Royeaux, I would wait upon you most ardently _ .  _ My family connections are no doubt known to you-’  _ that is a very polite way of bribing you for a date. Lord who?” Dorian had to smile. “These people are shameless.”

He ripped open more seals, flipping through papers. “‘ _ Forgive me, Commander, for my crude confessions’ _ Oh, they aren’t as crude as she promised. Rather pedestrian. I was expecting the word ‘throbbing’ somewhere,” Cullen put a hand over his face. It was mortifying, yet somehow Dorian made it a show.  _ “‘Utterly charmed by your subtle countenance’ - _ is ‘subtle’ what they think of glowering? -  _ ‘despite your modest background’-” _

_ “‘Modest?’ _ I suppose a title at the Inquisition isn’t enough? _ ”  _

“A backhanded jab at your parentage, I’m afraid. The sad part is, I don’t think they noticed. Oh, I like this one: ‘ _eyes more golden than all of Orzammar,’”_ he said with an Orlesian flourish, and a laugh escaped Cullen despite himself; not so much at the writer’s expense, but Dorian’s own delight.

“What are any of these people thinking?”

“They want you to man-handle them, I think that’s obvious enough. Perfectly reasonable request.”

Cullen gave a small, nervous laugh at Dorian’s prodding. “And here I am trying to reconcile that yesterday was real.”

Dorian slid forward off of his desk, and reached for the nape of Cullen’s neck. “Then I’ll show you.” His eyes closed as their lips met, and the suddenness left Cullen flustered. Dorian kissed him again, and Cullen opened his mouth to him, moving his hands to his sides. There it was; that warmth that filled up the cracks of him. It wasn’t a mistake; Dorian was solid, there in his hands, sighing into his mouth. At the sound of their lips parting, Cullen opened his eyes again and Dorian looked at him with the sort of smugness. He moved back, but Cullen pulled him in by the waist. Dorian gave a breathless laugh, but his voice ran deep. “Are you convinced yet?”

“Still hard to believe you let me do this.”

“I’ll let you do more.”

Bad idea; someone could still interrupt, but he didn’t know if he could stop. All of him felt too good to let go. With every kiss he felt himself unfurling, somehow; letting go. He was feeling dizzy again. . .  but it was not the haze of desire - it was a sharp tug of dropped stability. He stopped at the swaying of solid ground. Dorian pulled back suddenly, wiping his mouth. It came away with red oil, and Dorian looked at him alarmed. “You’re bleeding.” 

Cullen put a hand to his lips and his glove pulled away glossy. He became aware, then, of the blood flowing thick down the back of his throat and moved his hand to cover a wet cough. It was iron on his tongue and the pungency of gore. The chair scraped as Dorian moved aside and vivid red blood spilled out onto the floor. “Maker, what’s happening?” 

He saw Dorian - blackness - then Dorian again. He was blacking out, but his legs still held him. Panic - he should sit down, but he had to get out - get out of the room - the smell of battle. He coughed again, and again. He couldn’t speak. He almost couldn’t breath with the wash of fluid in his nose, his throat. Blood was quickly spilling down his chin, his armor, and it was taking him back to memories of people screaming, to helplessness.

“What can I do?” Dorian asked, alarmed. His hand was already glowing. Cullen stumbled toward the side-door to the overlook and the guards turned. He must have been a sight, trying to catch his breath and bleeding all over. The snow spotted red as he coughed. 

“Commander-”

“I’ll get a healer,” Jim said, jumping to action. Cullen could not object, but leaned forward. The cold hit him hard, and he could feel the icy air hit his throat as he opened his mouth. He tried to pinch the middle of his nose, but he needed the air. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Dorian explained helplessly. “It was just a nosebleed.”

“Can you speak, Commander?” The other guard, Jaret, held back, cautiously.

Cullen spit into the snow, and the relief of cold wind around him made him able to catch his breath. “Yes. Somehow.” 

“That’s the worst nosebleed I’ve seen in a long time,” Jaret said. “Almost looks like a tavern brawl.”

Cullen felt the blood thicken in his throat, and he spit more of it gracelessly into the snow. “It’s the cold air.”

Dorian touched his arm. “Do you need to sit down?” Cullen held his ground a moment. The guard looked at Dorian, then to his Commander, waiting for an order. 

“It’s alright now; Sorry for the mess,” he said to Jaret, as he put a hand over his mouth.

“I’ll let the healer in,” Jaret said, as Cullen moved inside. He was still light-headed, but he quickly peeled off his soiled gloves and climbed the ladder to his quarters. Dorian followed after him. “Should you be climbing?” He asked it rhetorically.

“It’s just a nosebleed Dorian.”

“Is it?” 

He knew. 

At the top, Cullen shed off the fur pauldrons and moved to the water basin. He used the towel there to wipe at his face, but when he saw his reflection he almost started. The sharp red on drained, pale skin was ghastly. He used the water to wipe off his neck, mouth and nose but cursed when it made him sneeze.

“That sounds lovely,” Dorian said as he appeared at the top of the ladder. His footsteps became gentle on the wooden floor as he looked around. “Are there more books in here?”

“I read before I sleep. You’ve been up here before?” He pinched the bridge of his nose so he wouldn’t sneeze out more blood.

“Well, yes; the last time lack of lyrium forced you into bed.”

Right. He had forgotten. Cullen put the bloodied towel down a little harder than he needed to. He hadn’t wanted his soldiers to see him that way. Being Commander meant all eyes were on him; he couldn’t distract them with his ailments. “I’m just so sick of this, Dorian.”

“Literally.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I know you're not,” He softened his voice, and Cullen started to take off his tunic.  “Though you have to admit, if you were easier on yourself I don’t think things would escalate as they do.”

“They would escalate whether I was in bed or behind a desk, so I’d rather make myself useful.” 

Dorian crossed his arms. “You’ll be less useful if you run yourself into the ground, you know.”

“Dorian-”

“I’ve been around students and scholars all my life, remember. You have to fit rest into your schedule.”

“This is all for the Inquisition. Were any of the scholars facing potential death?”

“Felix was.”

The door downstairs opened and a woman called up. “Are you up there, Commander? You shouldn’t be climbing.” Dorian gestured with his hand as if to say  _ “I told you so. _ ” The top of a head appeared and an older elven woman looked over to them. It was a healer Cullen recognized. “Go ahead, dear, and move your armor aside. No pains in your chest, I hope?”

“It’s really nothing.”

“Not from what your guards described.”

He was finally just in his cloth shirt underneath, and removed it to change into a fresh one. He knew Dorian’s eyes were on him, but he tried not to notice. The elven healer didn’t seem to think anything of his state of undress, but was listening as he laid out his morning routine leading up to the eventual nosebleed. 

“Let me see here.” The healer tied back her long, locked hair and placed hands gently at his pulse and at his forehead. “Your heart is beating very quickly; combining that with the dry air is a good indicator. . . could be stress related.” She put her hand up to his forehead as well, where he sweat at the temples. “Do you have a headache, Commander?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been feeling ill all morning? Even before drills?”

Dorian gave him a look. 

“Yes.”

She peered at him before saying “You were a Templar, weren’t you? Have you taken lyrium yet today?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Um hm,” she confirmed. “That’s what’s done it then. Don’t worry, it happens occasionally. But don’t be too busy to stick to your routines.” She went into the intricacies of how not having lyrium affects a body that had grown used to it, which Cullen already knew intimately. Hearing the potential threat so clinically seemed to emphasize the danger, which may have been her point. “Memory loss,” “acute headaches,” even “pain-induced suicide.” He wiped off his bloodied armor as she spoke. “. . .combine that with stress and it happens, especially in the winter months. Unfortunately healing magic doesn’t have much effect.” She looked over to Dorian with a friendly smile. “You didn’t rile him up, did you? No arguments?”

“I’m perfectly innocent.”

She looked back to Cullen. “Do you need me to bring you a-”

“No, I’m- I’ll have it handled.”

“Alright, then it’s good news. You’ll need to rest for a few hours. Stay warm, keep your head up, don’t be moving around too much yet. You’ve probably swallowed a lot of blood and that’s made you more nauseated. When you feel a little better, take your lyrium and everything should sort itself out.”

“Would you . . . happen to know,” he asked quietly, pulling on a fresh shirt, “about remedies that could help people move away from lyrium usage?”

She considered him a moment with an expression of regret. “. . . You’re not the first to ask me, Commander. Most of our ex-Templars don’t mind the dosage, but a few want to turn away from their old life. I’m afraid I don’t know much about it. I don’t like it, but all we know for now is that it’s a bigger risk not to take it, so you might as well. Maybe after this war is settled, people will have more time to do research on it, but I’m not from the Circles. The only information about withdrawal is from the fringes - you know, people who were defunct or-”

“-right.”

“-left for whatever reason. And it hasn’t worked out well, to put it lightly. But, well, if you find yourself stranded, Prophet’s Laurel berries can be made into tonic to relieve the accompanying muscle pain.” She continued to mention some sort of tea, but when Cullen closed his eyes and opened them he had jumped a few seconds in time. He felt himself sway. “Hey now, you should have a seat,” she said. 

Cullen sat down on his bed, and thanked her for her help as she moved on down the ladder to leave. Dorian moved to sit beside Cullen, who felt guilty for being dismissive. When he heard the door close, he spoke. “Cole said it would get worse before it got better.”

“What does that mean? You’ll have worse lapses and then be cured?”

“No, well,” he looked away. “Bad episodes are happening farther and fewer in between, which is better. But when they do happen, they’re worse.” It was most likely the beginning of the stage where most people became too sick to stay off lyrium - or too sick to stay alive. He couldn’t say that to Dorian’s face. He felt like he was running out of time.

“Hasn’t anyone suffered this before who could give insight? She mentioned healers from the Circles - would they know about such things?”

“If the knowledge is out there, it isn’t going to be easy to get,” Cullen admitted. “I only know what I’ve seen: That people get worse.”

“You could use the Inquisition for resources. Korvyn would approve in a heartbeat.” 

Something in him wanted to object but he didn’t want Dorian to worry. He relented. “Maybe.” They sat for a moment, and Dorian moved closer to him. “Why do you have that look?”

“ _ Did I _ rile you up? Make your heart beat a little too quickly?”

Cullen felt himself coloring in a blush and put a hand to his nose in precaution. “Don’t. You’re a menace.” Dorian only laughed, and Cullen returned a smile. “I’m sorry for the trouble. I don’t think I got your robes dirty.”

“It’s no trouble; you only gave me fright.”

“Then I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“I knew you’d be fine,” Dorian said, but he looked down at his hands. There was something sweet in his hesitance. Cullen took him by one of the leather straps at his chest and pulled him in. Dorian let him, before pulling back with a grimace. “You still taste like blood.” He looked around at the empty bedroom. “Perfect opportunity wasted, you know.” 

“I am painfully aware.”

“Will I be able to find time alone with you again,” he said quietly, resting an elbow on Cullen’s shoulder. “Or do I have to make an appointment?”

Cullen swallowed. If he weren’t sick, he’d be pushing Dorian’s shoulders down right then. The nerves of uncertainty seemed far away indeed after tasting him again. He wouldn’t have to think. Not at all. He let his hand rest on Dorian’s thigh. “Do you want to come back tonight?”

Dorian’s eyebrows raised with his smile. “You should be resting tonight, Commander.”

“Maybe tomorrow-” Tomorrow? Unless the local Teyrns arrived; that could go late. What he didn’t get done that afternoon would be backed up into the next morning. “Maybe. . .”

Dorian patted his cheek playfully. “Later, then. On some auspicious day. Priorities, remember?” There was that. They had made an unspoken agreement not to let this thing between them affect their work.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” He stood up, but didn’t make a movement to leave. 

“We have time to talk if you’d like.” Cullen said. “I know you came to have a laugh and things got rather. . . ” The fun had been spoiled, but he didn’t know if he could make it up to him at the moment. Regardless, he just wanted Dorian there. With no words to explain himself, Cullen moved to rest his back on the pillows against the headboard and made room for Dorian beside him. 

Dorian was looking at him oddly with a question in his mouth, but Cullen just waited until Dorian sat beside him and they bumped shoulders. Cullen rested his arm over his neck and Dorian moved closer. 

“I’m not used to doing this clothed,” he explained, with a tinge of self-depreciation. 

Cullen had to steel his face from surprise. Before even having any companion or friend, he had been used to tucking his siblings close to him or being tucked under his big sister’s arm after a nightmare. It had been so natural. Dorian never had siblings, and likely no Circle roommate to huddle up beside when he was lonely. 

“You only need to relax.” Cullen tried to project a feeling of nonchalance at Dorian’s concealed awkwardness, gently moving so Dorian could settle in. He rested his head in the crook of Cullen’s neck. “Better?”

“Ah. . .” His voice was uncertain. “Yes.”

“What have you been studying?”

“Is that what we do? We talk like this?”

Cullen huffed a halted laugh. “If you can get past it, Dorian, then yes. If you’d prefer a chair-”

“Well, no. . .” He moved a hand onto Cullen’s stomach. There was a moment where he paused to think, acclimating himself. “You’re very warm.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. How do you do that?” His fingers idly pressed against the shirt, tracing along muscles.

“Thick Southern blood, I’m told.”

“Better than thick in the head,” Dorian said. “. . . Although it depends on the h-”

“-don’t start.”

Cullen felt the hot air of a quiet laugh across his collar bone. “This visit has taken a strange turn.”

“Sorry about that. I am glad you came by.”

“Then get better, why don’t you?”

Cullen smiled. “Alright. I promise.”

Dorian reached over to Cullen’s other hand and examined it; They were not decorated or cared for as Dorian’s were, but calloused and bruised with hard knuckles. He turned the hand over and Cullen let him, noticing that Dorian’s mind was actually very far away. He paused. “I think I might see Alexius.”

“Alexius?”

Dorian placed Cullen’s hand down. “I haven’t spoken with him since the day he was retained; never really sought the closure.”

“Is this about your time magic?”

“A little,” Dorian said. “. . . A lot.”

Cullen knew that he was worried about what Dorian was saying, but holding him while he said it softened the corners. Dorian didn’t often share his thoughts so freely, and he let the pauses stretch. Dorian was finally letting go - the weight of him was pressing onto Cullen. Cullen nudged him a little closer. 

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking. . . ” Dorian said, considering. “That what I know. . .is something new and incredible. But it’s also something the world shouldn’t have.” 

“And seeing Alexius will help with that?”

“It may confirm something. I’m not sure what. Perhaps that I need to stop completely. Or that I can use what I know, as long as it’s only me.”

“Is it wise to let him know how successful your research has been? Maybe you should tell Korvyn first.”

“There’s no more ambition in Alexius. He didn’t even get to attend his son’s funeral.”

Cullen heard the pain in his voice. “You should tell me about him.” 

“About Alexius?”

“No; Felix.”

Dorian’s hand moved further over to Cullen’s side and he held on tighter. “I haven’t really . . . been able to talk about him.”

“Every time you do it will get easier.”

Dorian scoffed at himself. “I don’t even know what to say.” 

“What made him your friend?”

“He was a good person. I know that’s extremely simplified but it made all the difference in the world to me. People can be  _ good _ and still do shitty, horrid things sometimes; talk about you behind your back or leave extra work for you to do - mediocre and predictable in academics. But Felix wasn’t like that. He would go out of his way to be kind to people.” Dorian gave noise of resentment in his hindsight. “He had a lot of patience with me. Sometimes I was a bit of a prick.”

“But he never let you down.”

“Never. Without him, I might never had been able to help Korvyn.”

“Are you alright?”

“If I’m honest, I haven’t been alright in a long time.” As soon as he said it, he closed his eyes with a sigh. “Right, I don’t mean to be-”

“I haven’t been either.” Cullen admitted, and Dorian soaked the comment in. “My father . . . He had said that time is the great unraveller. It gives us a chance to be better.”

“Maker, is that optimism?”

“Seems more like common sense; that’s why you’re here.”

“Me? Are you sure I’m not simply a risk-taker?” Dorian turned his head to look up into Cullen’s face with a smile, and Cullen felt his heart squeeze.

“Knowing you, it could be all three.”

“‘The great unraveller.’ That’s interesting. I always think of time as something that creates more.”

“Perhaps that’s also true.” They were silent a moment, just subtle breaths in a still room. Cullen rested his cheek on the top of Dorian’s head. He expected him to protest flattening his hair, but he didn’t. To sit quietly with Dorian clinging onto him was some kind of special heaven. 

“Maker, I could fall asleep like this,” Dorian mumbled.

“You can if you’d like.”

Dorian gave a mighty sigh and slowly dragged himself up and pulled away to the side of the bed, taking his warmth with him. He didn’t look at Cullen, but towards the ladder, placing a hand at the back of his neck. “I’ll let you rest.”

“Dorian,” Cullen let his finger graze Dorian’s forearm as he stood. “Don’t leave upset.”

“I’m not. I’m not upset. I’m actually. . .” He finally turned his eyes to Cullen with a light smile, but his words trailed off with a sudden, nervous energy. He stretched his back and shrugged on some facade of confidence to make himself comfortable. Cullen didn’t blame him. There was no other way to describe it; he was shying away. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Anytime you need. No appointment necessary.” 

“Don’t say anything you’ll regret,” he said, then looked down. “Is there a graceful way to descend a ladder?”

“Nothing Dorian Pavus can’t handle.”

With the sort of dramatic poise that only Dorian could pull off, he threw a look over his shoulder and slid down while Cullen gave a short laugh. He heard Dorian’s voice carry out the door, hoping he wasn’t being too sarcastic with Jim on his way out. 

Then: silence, but for the wind blowing against stone. Mentioning his father unearthed a painful spike. He could hear the phrase in his voice: “ _ Someday everything is going to be gone, you know - time is the great unraveller. All that’s going to be left are the stones and the sky, so be kind to people, and you’ll stay by Andraste’s side. _ ” There were so many ruthless thoughts that the mind could claw over. Had his mother and father died in the same attack? Who had found them? Surely it wasn’t Mia. Was it quick, he hoped? The letter he received at Kirkwall had told him little, and his imagination filled in the details that were too painful to ask. 

Cullen put his hand next to him, where it was still warm. It steadied him, a little, but there was something off. Dorian reacted in a way he hadn’t expected; a slight hesitancy that was, perhaps, born from the unfamiliar. Or he may not have been ready to speak about his friend. It could be anything Cullen could only guess at. He had been so delighted earlier. The inscrutable, irresistible Dorian. Cullen lay back, feeling the storm in his chest. Was it happening already? 

A few hour’s bedrest was not going to be pleasant, but he could still plan the rest of the day - if he could get away with being alone with his thoughts. He grabbed a book from the nightstand. 

 

//

 

When Dorian made it back to his room, he leaned against the door he closed. 

. . . It had all been a little staggering, to say the least. He had grown an association in his mind with Cullen being the warm, comfortable part of Skyhold; the reprieve, the contained office where he found reassurance. Seeing Cullen choke on his own blood shattered this vision into abject reality. It had made his stomach flip, and that helplessness was excruciating, however brief. Cullen had seemed almost unfazed; surprised, but not in pain. If attacks were only going to get worse, how would the next one strike? While he was away? It was nothing either of them could control, but it had to be something Korvyn could find resources for. Even as he had left, the office had looked like a crime scene.

Despite that, it had been nice to sit with him alone. Too nice. Dorian thought briefly of the ridiculous Orlesian letters and smiled. He wondered how their opinion would change if they saw Cullen as he was - in his armor and fur, sloshing through muddy snow, shouting across the training yard, sneering at the obscene wealth of Orlais. He had grown to like these traits, somehow. 

He had wanted to stay with him, truly, but it was getting difficult to keep up a carefree exterior with Cullen being sweet to him. So many truths that were kept guarded had spilled out. He had pulled Dorian to him as if it were normal - maybe it was. If this was what he wanted, then why did it make him so nervous? What was so different that it caused a terrible ache? Tenderness? Inexplicably, Dorian felt himself blush. There would be no tenderness for him; not in this world. Cullen was offering something he wasn’t sure he could accept. However, when he remembered Cullen’s strong hand on his thigh, he felt a wash of relief. That was something familiar. 

He walked to the fireplace, conjuring a flame. He was still just Dorian, after all. And Cullen was Cullen. Everything in such cold felt too sharp.

In the corner of the room, the Tempest rested by the bookcase. The skull stared at him, and Dorian stared back. He had wanted to investigate the staff a little more, unsure whether to be approving or suspicious of such a relic. He picked it up and had enough room to give it a twirl. For such an old thing, it had a spry energy. He sat down with it laying across his desk.

It had no jaw with which to speak, but could it still whisper? With no lungs, no throat, no air to pass through, the dead could still speak if they had been very strong while alive, and more importantly, if they stubbornly wanted to cling on to life. Dorian had no idea who this was, or whether an attempt would be successful, but it was worth a try. Dorian didn’t know ancient Tevene, and perhaps his modern tongue would not be understood, but the intent of it may pass the boundary of language. He released a bit of spirit magic, and it diffused into a light, purple vapor around the skull. “ _ Would you speak? _ ” he asked in Tevene. No Fade spirits would bother with to a detached skull, but he wondered if its owner lingered somewhere in the Fade like the ancient Necromagisters. Dorian waited, and there was only the barest thrum of energy that may as well have been his own pulse. He expected as much. Was it worth trying? The veil was stretchy at Skyhold - not ragged, but flexible. 

Dorian concentrated a little harder; it was a difficult path of opening the mind to possibility while narrowing in on intent. So much of the process was mentally woven, but sometimes the dead still liked ceremony. He had to be respectful. With another infusion of potent spirit magic, he visualized the Still Ruins, the fixed state of incantation, and he felt a response in the waxy bone. “ _I invite you as a guest;_ _you who have not passed the Veil; you who have seen the sun set on your life. What do you know?_ ” Several spirits were listening; he felt their presence on the back of his neck. “ _What do you know?_ ” he repeated. Inexplicably, he heard a rasp. “Tempest?” Dorian repeated. What did it mean for the staff to say its own name? Again, he asked, “ _What do you know?_ ” 

It came harsher, and it was unmistakable.  _ Tempus _ . Dorian snatched his hands back at the dead voice in his ear. The connection was instantly severed. He let out a breath and the whispers in the room receded, folding back into the Fade.

_ Tempus _ , it had said. Time.

 

In some way, his resolve had been cemented. Dorian wasn’t sure what good it would do, but he felt like he had to say something to the only other person who would know what it meant.

His old mentor was under Fiona’s jurisdiction and was put to use at the repurposed tower for mages, but by evening, he was back in his cell. It was the only option that Korvyn found just - he could pay reparations with service to those whom he had manipulated. The guard let Dorian through, standing back to watch, but not hear. It was not as loud in the holding cells as it could have been, as the waterfall behind Skyhold was frozen solid; but a makeshift iron heater with fire offered warmth to the guard and the cells. Alexius only glanced up behind bars and stared a moment from a table and chair. “I was not expecting you to ever visit, Dorian,” he mumbled. “Unless of course there is something you need from me.”

“Funny, considering you used  _ me _ more often than not.”

“You can lower your hackles. I don’t have anything worthwhile to say to you.”

“There are  _ a lot of things _ you could be saying to me, but I’m not here for apologies.” Alexius had no room for contempt, but gave Dorian a look of boredom. It was difficult to speak harshly to someone he had once respected so much. He had a book open on the table, striking Dorian with the thought of how merciful Korvyn was being with Alexius. Although, having a Magister behind bars was really for the comfort of the people living there. There were a number of spells he could use to attempt an escape or cause chaos; but at the table in the torchlight, he simply looked like a worn, old man. “We found ruins in the Western Approach. Pre-blight.” That slightly drew his interest with a flick of the eyes. “The entire sphere of which was caught in a time anomaly, centered around a single staff. It was an aborted spell, but the staff survived. The thing itself still holds some power.” Alexius drummed his fingers in thought as Dorian spoke. He was disgruntled and resigned, but he was still clever, and curiosity was an eternal temptress. 

Dorian stood with his arms crossed, but Alexius always saw past his guard to the potential in him. “You’re still tampering with time magic, are you? With the Breach closed?” Dorian said nothing, yet Alexius shook his head. “It won’t last. The energy of the Breach only lingers, and will vanish like smoke. The possibilities are temporary.” 

“That may not be the case.”

“So, you’re wondering about the staff.”

“It holds memories of the work.”

“A failed spell, that almost certainly used power from blood magic.”

“That successfully stopped time for over a thousand years.”

“Stopped time. . .” Alexius repeated, and Dorian waited while Alexius looked down in a moment of thought. He had known and advised over Dorian’s projects as Dorian had helped build his. “You’ve seen what such power can do, yet you would still risk using it?” Alexius asked, but Dorian was not in the mood for a lecture. “If that’s the case, you’ve seen how the rifts alter time in contained spaces, which your older work supports. If you’re wondering if this staff could help you. . . maybe it can. It would have absorbed magic from the Fade for so long that it would be more unusual if it couldn’t. Such an arcane object steeped in magical memory could unlock that power from the Fade with some ease, but it won’t make the task anymore straightforward, as you know. Did it belong to a Dreamer?” 

“Impossible to say.”

“And the base-sigil was a double circle?”

“Around a polygon. I did not know the symbols.”

“No, pre-blight had their own hieroglyphs,” he said. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you not to be foolish. A staff like that is a fortunate find.” Alexius looked down, shaking his head. “Strange that you would come to me, after everything.”

“You were my mentor once,” Dorian said. “And part of me wonders if that man still exists somewhere.” 

Alexius scoffed wearily. “I have acted out of desperation; I have no apology to offer.” Dorian twisted his mouth at his words but Alexius continued. “Tevinter is crumbling, Dorian. You’ve seen the warships from the coast of Seheron. Only we hold the North against the Qunari threat. Do you think that will hold when talented mages are divided in Tevinter, and being slaughtered by the Inquisition in the South? These Southerners have no idea of what awaits them - what could be unleashed.”

“Will you refuse to see how much can be accomplished?  _ You’ve seen _ the disbanding of the Circles here, and the power of the Southern mages-”

“I see neutered hedge mages and Templar guard dogs rabid with lyrium. When this war ends, the structure  _ will _ be maintained, because it’s  _ easier _ . They give power to select few - their Grand Enchanters - and how many are they? Not even enough to fill a handful of seats at the Magisterium, and not nearly so polished,” he derided. “There’s so much potential here for Tevinter to influence.”

“That is all trite conjecture,” Dorian said, chafed by the familiar rhetoric. “I had thought this cell might give you more time to think; but you’re still a lackey of Corypheus.” 

“I am only loyal to my country. None of that matters now.” He leaned back in his chair, having long ago dismissed any drive for living. He considered Dorian. “I taught you almost all that I know; It was your talent that got me so far.”

“And that put you in that cell.”

“Yes.” Alexius gave a limp smile. “I’ve always known what you were capable of doing. It’s wasted here, but I would not stand in your way. If your work is taking you farther than anyone else, Dorian, as I suspect it will,” he said, folding his hands. “For the good of our homeland, you must keep working.”

“For the good of our homeland, the Inquisition will stop that madman.”

“At this point, the damage is done.” He sighed. “If you care about Tevinter at all, you should better her with your studies. Your creativity would not go amiss in the Magisterium. You know I don’t say that lightly.”

Dorian did know that Alexius said what he meant. He had been chosen by him as an apprentice for a reason - never caring about Dorian’s relationships or reputation, but his ambition. For a long time Dorian had hoped for Alexius to be a new father to him. But what did a father mean, besides betrayal? “It’s not too late, Alexius. You don’t need to be some. . . walking amalgam of fear and despair. You’re too clever to waste away.”

Alexius moved from the chair to his cot, ready for the conversation to close. “You would be a fool not to have fear, Dorian. The power is already swaying. Leave me to my despair, and continue towards your own.”

 

//

 

As the moons moved higher, the Herald’s Rest began to fill with bodies and chatter. On the northern side, the cold was pierced by a ferocious laugh. 

“It gave him a nosebleed?”

“Cold weather and embarrassment will do that.”

Sera had lured Dorian onto the side-roof, where hot air from the tavern blew out from the window and heated their backs. He sipped an Antivan vintage to stay warm and Sera wore a jumble of mixed winter clothing, not caring where it came from. He decided to give something of the truth to Sera as he had promised, rather than share Cullen’s true struggle.

She whistled. “Uptight.  _ Majorly _ . Do us all a favor and get his trousers down so he’ll loosen up - or find a pretty bitty who will.” Dorian grinned. Sera didn’t much like Cullen or know what was going on between them, but she made a tiny effort for Dorian. She had stopped her pranks on him a while ago.

“That’s not quite the type of magic I work,” he said, bemused.

“Yeah? Cause otherwise it’s all thinking you’re one way, right? Rub one off: no more mystery. Sees you as a person again and it’s good times.”

“That makes sense, in a very  _ you _ way.”

“Who invited creepy?” she asked, eyebrows falling into a furrow as she noticed Cole sitting with them.

“Hello,” he said.

“He’s been here the whole time,” Dorian told Sera. 

“I can’t be seen with  _ both _ of you. They’ll think I’m a weirdo.”

Iron Bull spotted them from the roof as he walked by. “If you’re done freezing your asses off, there’s a round of Wicked Grace starting soon. You should grab drinks and a seat.”

“Yes on the drinks, no on the gambling just yet.”

“You just don’t want anyone to see your arse, Dorian.”

“ _ Please _ ; they should be so lucky.”

“You guys in or what?” Bull asked.

Sera got up and quickly moved inside and Bull followed below. Dorian took a breath. There was a strange pressure in the air; a slight suspense that the others didn’t seem to notice. 

“I feel it too,” Cole said. 

“The Fade?”

“A nightmare.”

Little lights were being lit around Skyhold, and different cheers went up inside. The gaiety of the atmosphere poured out in yellow light through the windows and onto the snow, and some music started up. At least in this place they had their moments of comfort. 

“Why don’t we hear the bard’s new work?” Dorian asked, moving inside at last. Cole, pleased to be invited, went along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Some in-game dialogue was lifted and altered.  
> -I substituted Latin in for Tevene in Dorian’s memory. The Latin from Halward is a real example from my Latin book: Dorian wrote “The good master used to have a slave,” Halward corrects him:“The master used to have good slaves.” Then follows the contextual vocabulary for leading/taking someone somewhere.   
> -As you can probably tell, I’m trying to patch the “Dorian can do time magic even when the Breach is closed” problem. As much as I like to think he could do it all by himself, I also think it makes sense to have an artifact that could help, as it took the Breach AND the amulet for Alexius to succeed.   
> -Next chapter is coming out SOON - because it was originally part of this chapter but it got too long. . . just editing now.  
> You can also find me here: https://thieving-magpie-writes.tumblr.com/  
> As always, thank you for all that you do: for your interest, reading, kudos, comments. You're amazing, truly.


	18. Priorities

“Commander- Commander are you awake?”

“Yes, Jim - what is it?”

“There’s been an incident overnight with a mage recruit.”

It was not the best way to start a morning. After Jim had called up to him from the ladder, Cullen dressed quickly and moved into the bleak cold of early morning, before dawn.

Jim went with him to the makeshift hospital, where the only witness sat at a cot, a healer fixing up her wound. He had been saying it, of course, that abominations would happen; but their record had been so clean that he hadn’t wondered if everything had been completely under control; that it was all a haze of fear. When he saw the witness, he recognized her. She was the older woman from Kirkwall - the mage who held her ground at Haven. 

She nodded stiffly. “Commander.”

“Are you alright, er-?”

“Taletha. Yes, somehow.” She gestured him closer for privacy, and the other people watching stood back. Cullen dragged over a chair to sit beside her.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Taletha sighed and opened her hands. “It was despair.”

“A despair demon?”

“That too.” Her eyes bore into his for a reaction, but Cullen only listened. “He was a young mage, not yet strong enough to fend off a demon, but not powerful enough to be tempting. And yet, somehow, I woke to a screech and did what I had to do. I had seen abominations a few times before. But it was strange to see it  _ here _ . There’s a wave of discontent happening with sleep.” She paused to tuck a greying hair behind her ear and lace her fingers. “Maybe the others think I’m being too cautious, but I think there’s something wicked targeting us.” 

Cullen lowered his voice with her. “More than one demon?”

“You know what it feels like, when something is stalking in the Fade,” she said, and immediately he knew what she meant. “When you’ve lived in a Circle for so long. . . it’s the static before a storm. It’s a restlessness. We have different blood, but surely Templars felt it too.”

“Yes.”

“The veil is thin here, the demons are just on the other side, like predators. We draw magic, and they wait. I don’t know if this is related to the Inquisitor’s own affairs, but it does seem like. . . precise timing. Recently, it has been harder to sleep at Skyhold, but most of us don’t remember anything when we wake up - only that we were struggling with some nightmare. And this lad; perhaps he was too vulnerable, but we’ve all been encouraging each other with good thoughts and the like before we sleep. If it were to happen, I would not have expected him.”

“But you were able to stop him?”

“I know you would have Templars monitor the mage recruits again after this incident, Commander,” she said, though she spoke with caution rather than malice. “But a Templar’s sword is not forgiving. I used ice before it knew what happened - it was quick, bloodless. If the lad were watching from the inside the demon, it would be over quickly without maiming and mayhem.”

A memory slid into place of mages being killed overnight by other mages. It was uncommon, but was dismissed as some dark in-fighting. The Gallows had never been peaceful. It hadn’t occurred to Cullen that there were mercy-killings. “You did this is Kirkwall?”

“Yes, I did.”

Cullen put his hand to his neck. Over a year ago, a Templar would have been considered the expert in dealing with mages, possession, and lures from the Fade. He would have known the protocol. In the Inquisition, he had learned how much more mysterious the Fade actually was. He looked to Taletha with some regret. “As you suggest, the recruits will demand a Templar presence.”

Her expression became stony. “And will you give it to them?” 

The easiest solution was there, but it was not favorable. As their hardened Commander, he had never worried about sensitivities, only pragmatism. And yet. Many mages would not like having an ex-Templar guarding their sleep after Circle politics; and with even the best intentions, some ex-Templars might fall into bad steps wielding power. He didn’t want to think it could be true of the pious, but he knew better. An old thought bubbled up: _ No mage is defenseless _ . But that had proven itself wrong, and in reality, they worked better side-by-side. However, there were still many who were not recruits, but refugees.

Taletha did not seem perturbed at his lack of answer. “I’m glad you’re thinking about this, Commander.”

“It may not be for me to decide. Perhaps Fiona should be consulted with the Inquisitor.”

“Yes, he is gifted with magic of the Fade,” Taletha said, and for the first time, Cullen saw hope in her eyes. “The sooner His Worship is back, the better.”

 

// 

By the time drills were over, there was only small gossip that something had happened with a few mages, but all recruits - including mage recruits - lodged in a different area and didn’t know the truth. 

Leliana had sent a quick message that the Inquisitor was on his way, so Cullen went to speak with her about preparations. He was lost in thought as he walked headlong up the stairs from the rotunda as Dorian was walking down. At the last moment, they both moved to avoid hitting the other and Dorian took a slight misstep.

Cullen caught him, and for a brief moment they held a position of dancing.

Dorian breathed out a laugh. “And now for my next trick,” he said to an invisible audience.

“Is breaking your neck a new trick?” Cullen smiled. 

“No, it’s falling into strong men’s arms.”

“Of course; it was all planned. Are you alright?”

“Good reflexes, you. Perfectly alright; I was just about to go find you.”

“I’m sorry - I’m in a rush to see Leliana.” He was still holding Dorian, but felt no compulsion to let go. Cullen relinquished his waist, but still grasped his hand. “Trevelyan is coming back this evening.”

“Is he? Well that’s good news. And you’re feeling better?”

“Much better. I need to run something by you actually,” Cullen said, and took a step up. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course.”

Some stupid, chivalrous impulse seized him and he raised Dorian’s warm knuckles to his lips before letting go of his hand and starting to ascend the stairs with a red face.  

“You-” Dorian paused a beat, actually caught off guard. “You are too much,” he said with an uncertain smile, pulling the hand up to place it on his chest. 

“Making Dorian Pavus gape must be my new trick.”

He heard Dorian’s “ _ Tch”  _ of denial as he looked away. It probably  _ was _ too much, and he would be teased about it later, but for whatever reason, it felt more important to show Dorian some affection. Up more stairs, and finally at the rookery the orange light cast upwards to the fluttering birds. There was more subdued light from the frost-covered windows and Cullen saw that the Nightingale's desk was just as messy as his own. Leliana turned with a slight nod, her own expression thoughtful. 

“What news, Leliana?”

“The Inquisitor was spotted in the Frostbacks; he'll return in a few hours.”

“Then to Caer Oswin?”

“Val Royeaux.”

“Orlais again?”

“Josie will explain at the next meeting. It's a personal issue. But yes, then he and Cassandra will move east. Hopefully we’ll hear from Hawke and Stroud by then. It’s been eerily quiet.” 

“I had a report from Rylen just this morning; More Grey Wardens have been appearing in the Western Approach, but as Stroud suggested, not all of them know why. They’re loyal, almost to a fault, but in some places where they’ve met with Inquisition forces they were convinced to help keep back the Darkspawn in the multiple ruins. Hopefully it’s a distraction with some lasting benefit.” Leliana was quiet as he spoke, thinking. “And still no word of Warden Surana?”

“None,” she replied. “It would take enormous resources we can’t spare to track him down.” Cullen knew that they had been close friends during the Blight, but it was strange that he wouldn’t reach out at all. Leliana shrugged it off. “Since you’re sending your own messages, I should mention, you can keep the bird rather than stealing him so often. The one with the white feather on his breast.”

“I didn’t. . .”

“Quietly borrowed, then.” She smiled. Well, that was more accurate. It would not have felt right using a smaller bird to fly so far so often to send messages, so the large one with a white feather just seemed appropriate. Cullen only hoped the distinction didn’t make it a target.

“Have you spoken with Korvyn about the Sunburst Throne?”

“Would it be easier if I were to leave? To keep Cassandra at reach instead?”

“I’m not subversive, Leliana,” Cullen said. “I was wondering what  _ you _ felt about it.” 

“I have spoken with Korvyn about it. That’s all you need to know.” She sighed at her words. “I don’t mean to be elusive, only, it’s an eye-opening possibility. It’s the opportunity to change the Chantry and most of Thedas. . . to rule with a graceful ruthlessness.” Leliana cast her eyes down, and they landed on Cullen’s gauntlet, and the flaming sword of Andraste emblazoned there. She looked back to him. “Yes, I’ve been thinking about it, but there’s no answer yet; not until Corypheus is dealt with. I do appreciate your asking. And I think you’re right about the Inquisitor deciding on the abomination issue. If I may say so, I think your friendship with Dorian has helped you to be more sympathetic to mages.”

“Well.” It was a strange compliment, but heartfelt. “Perhaps.”

“There is a small issue concerning Dorian. A man in Orlais has contacted us about an amulet. . .”

 

//

Dorian moved into the main hall, where there were more people than usual - there to greet Korvyn when he showed up, perhaps - and the kitchen quickly started sending out food. He had meant to stick around to socialize, but Dorian found himself fire-side as usual to stay warm, and people-watched to take his mind off of things. Though some magnetism was pulling his mind to the Tempest, Alexius’ own tirade about the good of Tevinter had put him off. It confirmed a need to continue his work, but not for any cause - that would make it self-righteous rather than scientific, and he wanted no part of that. Though he did work for the Inquisition now, he wondered if he might still be able to hoard his original work. Korvyn didn’t seem the type to abuse Dorian’s studies, though desperation could drive one towards unfortunate decisions. Dorian looked down to his recently-kissed hands. 

Once again, he was offered affection that he didn’t know how to handle, shifting through his fingers like sand. Was this man trying to court him? Was that what was happening? Dorian remembered Sera’s suggestion to hurry up and sleep with people so there wouldn’t be too much built-up intrigue. Friends with benefits was easier; no entanglements that would no doubt be painful later. But he liked Cullen a little more than that, didn't he? Some part of him told him that this was bad – that there was no place for this kind of intimacy in his life – but Dorian could not deny that there was something about Ferelden honesty that was not malicious. Or maybe it was just Cullen's honesty.

“I can almost see the cogs working in that pretty head, Sparkler.”

The company had been so loud, Dorian hadn’t noticed Varric come in. “Hello Varric. How were the howling winds of the Oasis?”

“I mean, it was a nice place,” he said, “besides a cave full of spiders, hundred foot cliffs, and another creepy elven ruin, it was beautiful. Oh, and a Giant. Mistake running into a Giant and killing it the first day. By the time we left, the smell was unbelievable.”

“Sounds like a romp.”

“Lots of undead. You would’ve like it.”

A call of greetings raised up, and Dorian spotted Korvyn walking through the entrance with the winter sun behind him. He was very windswept but held a genuine smile to those coming up to him. His clothes fit him better from wear, and he wasn’t nearly so scrappy as when he was started out at Haven. Korvyn had grown into a confident leader. The Inquisitor was handed a generous plate overflowing with food, but he was slowly ushered towards the front of the hall so he could go wash and change. He took the plate with him.

“ _ His holiness _ will be scrubbing the sand out of his hair for a few days,” Varric said with a grin. “And I’ll be scrubbing it out of somewhere else.”

They sat down to have lunch and drinks together, while others stopped to talk and catch up. Dagna came out for while to chat, saying she was waiting to speak with the Inquisitor.

“Oh,” she said, looking behind Dorian. “There he-”

Before Dorian knew it, he was hugged tightly from behind by a freshly-clean Korvyn. “Dorian, how are you? You lucked out moving ahead, I probably should have done the same thing. ” He let go as Dorian turned, and more than a few people were watching them.  _ This is how rumors start _ .

“You  _ did  _ have a spot more of warm weather than we had here, at least.”

Korvyn and Varric quickly launched into recounting adventures to prove Dorian’s inaccuracy. Dagna was eventually able to interject. 

“If I may, Inquisitor? I have something for you and the Commander to see.”

“Oh! Sorry, Dagna, right. Actually, we can go see him right now. We do need to have a meeting later - you coming Dorian?”

Dorian wasn’t sure why he was invited, but he went anyway. The Commander’s office was about to get a little smaller. 

 

With absolutely no need to knock, Korvyn walked into Cullen’s office with a greeting. The Inquisitor had only just returned and Cullen’s desk was already getting thick with paper. The bloodstains were off the floor, at least. 

Cullen stood, moving his eyes to each of them. “Inquisitor, and hello Dagna; Dorian.”

Dorian gave him a smile from behind the others and he reflected it.

“Yeah, there’s a few of us. Dagna wanted to share something.”

She pulled a chalky colored rune with red inscription from a side pocket. “Okay, so, it took awhile, but when you brought me the tools that Maddox used for Samson’s armor, I was able to work backwards based on what he used - including red lyrium-”

Korvyn, whose hand had been outstretched, pulled back. “This is made with red lyrium?”

“Don’t worry Inquisitor!” She smiled. “It’s only a rune; but it’s tied to Samson’s armor, using the median fission of lyrium it- well, anyway, it will destroy it.”

“That is  _ amazing _ , Dagna!”

“I’m going to be picking your mind later as to how that works.”

“I’d expect no less, Dorian.” She winked at him. 

Cullen’s eyes lit up with the good news, and it made Dorian wonder how grim the documents on his desk had been. “When we confront Samson at last, Corypheus will lose another vital part of his army.”

“Yes- We’re getting closer, Cullen, do you feel it?” Korvyn grinned. “It’s been a back and forth, but this is a great advantage.”

“If that’s all Inquisitor?”

“Yeah, go ahead Dagna; take the night off if you’d like.”

Dagna gave a short salute and left. Korvyn let out a breath, deflating a moment. “We will have to tackle the Western Approach, but, later, at the meeting.” Cullen nodded and Dorian was glad he didn’t have the responsibilities of the war table. “Er, there will be a new mage there. Morrigan, if you recall from the Winter Palace. She rather quietly appeared at Skyhold, but she comes with the Empress's blessing.” Dorian barely remembered her at all. His mind had been a tad occupied by a tall, strapping soldier who was stealing glances at him now. Korvyn, of course, hadn’t noticed. 

“This is the woman Vivienne was sore about?” Dorian asked.

Cullen put a hand to his neck. “I do remember seeing her, though I was a bit distracted.”

“Right, we did leave a tad early,” Korvyn nodded. Dorian looked at Cullen to indicate he should stop talking, but Cullen looked right at him and smiled, the wretch. Oh no, Dorian wasn’t going to turn this into a game of how oblivious Korvyn was. 

“Going to Val Royeaux should seem a treat after the desert.”

“Actually, Dorian,” Korvyn said, shifting weight. “You might be interested in going.”

“Oh?”

“There’s - Well- We got a letter from someone who- Actually, Leliana had-” His eyes flicked to Cullen.

“We know about the Birthright Amulet. The cur who has it wants to negotiate,” Cullen said, to spare Dorian some talk-around. 

“Yes,” Korvyn said, with some relief. “That.”

Dorian was taken aback a moment. He had made some half-hearted inquiries as they had passed through Orlais, but it had taken a backseat to his studies. Of course Leliana would find out. “Maker, a man can’t try to do any sort of business in Skyhold without the spymaster watching, can he?” 

“Well, that is her job. And he contacted us, actually,” Korvyn said, and the awkward tone was giving him away. 

“He contacted you. . . which means he wants something from you specifically.” It suddenly clicked into place and Dorian felt weighted with the familiar forecast. “Ah, of course. He thinks we’re sleeping together.”

A tinge of a blush appeared on Korvyn’s cheeks. “He didn’t imply that-”

“He didn’t have to. It would be an easy assumption to make with my reputation, and it is a supposed weakness he might exploit. It’s really not worth the trouble for you to wonder about, Korvyn; it’s my own problem and I’ll get the amulet back. Somehow.”

“It sounds more serious than that,” Cullen said, arms crossed.

“It's only important insofar as to what it represents, nothing more.”

“But doesn't it represent your house? Someone could use it to impersonate you or take certain advantages in Tevinter-”

“Yes I am well aware of that now, but there are more pressing issues. That amulet is hardly a stone's throw from problems with the Wardens, the Seekers, assassins…”

Korvyn held up his hands. “It's up to you if you want to go and talk to this man yourself. It's also your opportunity, isn't it? To get it back?”

“I'm assuming it's not a traditional price, which is worrisome.” Dorian looked from Korvyn to Cullen. He didn’t really want to leave, but it wasn’t about that. “Alright, I’ll go. If he tries to involve you, Korvyn, it’s no deal. This is my responsibility and I will not be someone to add more worries to your already over-stuffed plate.”

“Hey, fair enough,” he said. “We should head to the war table, Cullen.”

“Are you leaving at dawn?” Dorian asked. 

“No, I have to actually catch up on my sleep. I would stay for a day, but Cassandra needs me too, so I’ll have to get on things. . . midday should work. Better for you, right?”

He walked towards the door with Cullen following. As he walked by, Cullen slipped his hand into Dorian’s for only a moment as he walked, looking back, and then moving forward. 

The door closed and Dorian sighed. 

 

//

 

They did what they could over the war table, and the advisers sent Korvyn off to bed early. Cullen and Leliana had to be assured from Josephine that it was better not to have people in place to protect her, should the Val Royeaux meeting go awry, but she was certain that she was dealing with people of integrity, despite it being the House of Repose, and Korvyn’s presence was enough. Before they departed the room, Cullen tried to nonchalantly ask if there were any way to help obtain Dorian’s amulet. Though the women smiled and exchanged glances, they assured him they might be able to think of something, should the man negotiating try anything dodgy.

Cullen let out a shiver as they left the war room; the entryway fixed only with temporary wooden boards that kept out snow, but not the chill. Some moonlight streamed in through the boards to illuminate dancing dust. The ladies spoke quietly, walking ahead of him with puffs of white breath to move into Josephine’s cozy office. Cullen was fastened tightly to his thoughts and walked slowly. 

There was still no news of Aryn Trevelyan, Korvyn’s Grey Warden older brother, and Korvyn was of a mindset that he had perished during the Blight. Cullen quietly found that might be preferable than fighting against him at some point. It had momentarily brought up the point of siblings, and Cullen had not been expected to be chastised when Korvyn asked about the condition of his siblings and Cullen had no answer. He only knew that they were safe, or he would have been told otherwise, and Korvyn gave him a look of horrified silence before diving into a oration about the importance of family that cared. 

“Maker, all we have in the world are the people we love and who love us back, even if it’s only your own self. You’re lucky to have family that cares, Cullen; you should reach out. Don’t take them for granted,” he had said, before catching himself and moving the subject toward the matter at hand. 

Cullen knew that, of course. He loved his family, but some regret tied his hand. He hadn’t wanted them to know - to see what he had become. They knew him when he was young, optimistic, carefree. He didn’t want them see how his choice as a boy had became something twisted. He was not raised to have pride, and he had had no enthusiasm in his work to share with them, nevermind the sickness he now carried. 

He remembered few moments from the last year they had spent together before he had left with the Templars. Mia and Cullen always had to alternate watching their younger siblings to get chores done, but they usually bickered about it. There was one day that stood out more clearly than the others; starting with Mia finding him waving his uncle’s old sword around outside of the house. 

“Cullen! Will you stop wasting time and watch Branson and Rosalie for me?”

The muscles in his hand were not used to holding a sword meant for a man, and he felt determined to be stronger. “I’m busy.”

“With what? Da didn’t give you anything to do.”

“With training.”

Mia gave an excellent condescending laugh. “Training from who? Waving a sword around isn’t training, dummy.”

He stopped for a moment to hold his ground. Mia was older and more clever. “I already watched them all of yesterday. And what are you doing?”

“None of your business.”

“Then I’m not watching them.”

“Well I’m leaving, so I guess they’ll just be out playing all by themselves.”

“I guess so.”

They stared at each other to detect the other’s bluff. They always joked that they’d leave their younger siblings out for the fairies and apostates for how annoying they could be, but they also both knew that they loved their younger siblings and their toddling innocence. It was more about the power struggle. 

“Don’t be an arse,” she said, and took the poise of their mother with hands on her hips and chestnut hair flipped over her shoulder. She evened her voice to make an appeal. “Will you just watch them while I get our saw back from the neighbors?”

“Fine. Just be quick about it, alright?”

He knew he had been tricked when she hadn’t been back in fifteen minutes. She would go into Honnleath proper to chat up friends while she still had time to do so. Mia was at the age where she would have to pick a trade and become an apprentice somewhere, so their parents were lenient with her being social and getting to know people around Honnleath, but that leniency would only extend for so long. She was restlessly trying to enjoy the summer while she could and in hindsight he didn’t blame her.

Cullen had spent the day watching his younger siblings run around the property, getting more furious with Mia and comradic with Branson and Rosalie. They were always thrilled with his company, climbing all over him or otherwise screaming through the fields telling him to run after them. When Mia had finally come home, Cullen refused to speak with her and she had the decency to feel bad, but he wouldn’t snitch. It was when his parents starting arriving after daily errands that the family felt more complete, always moving through the house and keeping busy. 

“Love, have you seen the twine?” his father asked.

“By the door,” his mother replied. 

His father grabbed the twine and spoke aloud as he walked through different rooms, collecting items. “Heard about the Lynells’ boy. Shame.”

“Damn shame.”

“What happened?” Mia asked quickly. 

His father stopped with an expression of apology. “Turned out he was an apostate. That itself is one thing - but they had to lock him in the shed until the Templars came.”

“Templars?” 

“Accidentally froze a man’s horse when he was startled.” 

“You know Mrs. Lynell’s last husband died in an accident? I wouldn’t wonder if he was an apostate too,” his mother added. 

Mia was quiet. Branson wasn’t paying attention, and picked up Rosalie as if she were a sack of potatoes - she was so used to it that she continued to shake her doll.

“It’ll be better for him, Mia,” his father said. “He could have hurt someone today, not just a horse. He’ll learn how to control his magic at the Circle.” 

His mother agreed. “He was a good sort. He’ll be very helpful there; you know he won’t cause any trouble.”

Mia was resigned, and as her brother, Cullen felt he also had a responsibility to her. “If I become a Templar, I’ll look out for him, Mia.”

“Thanks Cullen.” She put her arm around him and ruffled his hair. “Sorry for pushing the brats onto you.”

“They weren’t so bad.”

“Take the stable chores from you tomorrow?” 

“Alright.”

He wondered if Mia remembered the friend who turned out to be an apostate, because he didn’t; and Branson - he had his own son now; would the baby look like how he looked as a child? Rosalie had the same hair as Cullen; he wondered if they resembled each other. He was their big brother, and he wasn’t there as they grew up. He had always found something to say to Dorian - why not them? Why not now, as he started to become a man he wanted to be? Korvyn was right; he should reach out to them. 

Cullen looked up from his thoughts, where his feet had carried him to Dorian’s door. He had moved toward a confidant. Cullen never really felt like sharing thoughts he had long since left by the wayside - these days, it felt more important to enable others to reach out. He wasn’t sure why it was so hard for himself. 

He knocked. 

 

//

 

Both chairs were occupied with books, the table was covered in sigil sketches, and the bed would tempt him to sleep, so Dorian sat in front of the fireplace to read. An open inkwell sat beside him as he underlined some passages. He was known as a serial vandalizer for marking pages and writing in margins, but Dorian would always argue that at least the books were well-used and well-loved by his hand. He knew he should get more sleep in for traveling the next day, but old habits usually bore out over common sense. 

What he hadn’t expected was a knock. He wondered if it was worth getting up for, but remembered Cullen saying he needed to run something by him. Well. He capped the inkwell and opened the door to Cullen, standing dutifully in the winter wind.

“I see it’s still gorgeous out,” Dorian said and moved aside to let Cullen in. His shoulders relaxed immediately in the warmth and took a quick look around. “Yes, sorry, it’s not exactly tidy in here.” 

“It’s. . .very you. Maybe we should get you a bigger desk.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. Let me clear a chair-”

“That’s alright.” Cullen went to the fire instead. When he saw the cushions placed there, he sat down with the clink of metal, and Dorian followed. “It’s cozy in here; I’m glad you’ve made it your own.”

“Skyhold is becoming a little less like a hotel, isn’t it?” Cullen nodded, and took off his gloves. He hesitated, so Dorian started, “And this is where you tell me. . .?”

“It’s not good news,” Cullen warned. “One of our people died here at Skyhold.”

“What?”

“He became an abomination. The woman he was boarding with had to. . . handle him.”

“That’s. . .” 

An abomination at Skyhold seemed bizarre, but then why would it be? Their little castle had become a safe asylum from the troubles of Thedas, but people carried their trauma with them. If anything, perhaps it was an achievement it hadn’t happened already.

“It seems that quite a few mages have had trouble sleeping lately, and Korvyn agreed as a precaution for tonight to have multiple mages to a room to help support one another or, in an unfortunate case, have backup.” It was a grim subject, but Cullen was being sensitive about the issue. “I was going to ask you if. . .well, if there are any helpful techniques for the mages to know that might make them less vulnerable.”

Dorian felt, suddenly, severely underqualified for dealing with Southern mages. “Why are you asking me? As Commander, isn’t there a protocol of some sort?”

“I know what a Knight-Captain’s protocol would be,” he said, looking into the fire. “And we need to be better than that.”

“Maker.”

“This is for the Inquisitor to have a final say, and I’m willing to ask Solas or Vivienne, but I trust your advice first. You’ve mentioned before that your harrowings are different in Tevinter - that you were always prepared to take on a demon. Is there any way that you can help our mages here, until Korvyn finds the source of the problem?”

A memory sparked. “. . .It involves nightmares, you say?”

“The mages say the veil is thin - it disrupts their sleep.” 

Yes, Dorian had felt it. A strange stalking thing that was sending other demons around. He had faced one himself, hadn’t he? “Korvyn and I happened upon this problem before at Skyhold.”

“Before? And I wasn’t told. . . ”

“It was considered something of a fluke.” Dorian watched Cullen who watched the kindling, his features softening in the light. “What do you know about demons while they’re still in the Fade?”

“That they use someone’s own memories against them, and try to manipulate a mage through their painful thoughts.”

“I ran into a demon recently in my own dream.” For whatever reason, it felt hard to say the next part. “It was you as Knight-Commander - a Red Templar. It was after you told me about the Circle and Kirkwall. I suppose your past got into my head.” Dorian moved his eyes to the fire as well, hoping he didn’t offend Cullen with this fear he was sharing - the fear of what he could have been. “We killed you - well. The demon. Though I suppose now it was only a small manifestation of something more menacing.”

“You killed me?” 

“It read my memories; how we had fought before. The difference was that your Smite was stronger. I was almost- almost convinced, you know. Once I became angry I realized my magic was there the whole time. And Korvyn- I had called to him somehow. We killed the thing.”

“He was in your dream too?”

“Not a dream-version; the real Korvyn was Fade-wandering.”    
Cullen was giving him a cautious look, always uncertain just how Korvyn’s new skills worked without being tremendously dangerous in their association with the Fade. “A demon taking on my facade to attack you is disgusting.”

“I took a little longer killing it than I needed to.”

“Good.”  

“And,” Dorian decided. “I’ll think the mage situation through. No promises, especially since someone else will probably be more familiar, but I probably have some good suggestions somewhere in my old tomes.”

“Thank you, Dorian,” Cullen said, visibly relieved. 

“Having a mixed army must come with some interesting challenges.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I can believe a lot of things. Like bad dreams, apparently. Not  _ exactly _ the kind of dream one wants to hear about when it features themself.”

Cullen spared a small laugh. “If you have any others, I’ll hear them.”

“And now he plays risque.”

He bit his lip with a smile, and Dorian watched how the flames reflected in his eyes. “It’s been a rough week. I don’t want to think about it for a while.”

“Hmm. We don’t have to.” 

That returned a wry grin. “Was that an attempt at a lead-in?”

“What ‘attempt?’ You’re practically mine already, aren’t you?”

“Know-it-all.” Cullen pulled Dorian to him into a slow, heady kiss. 

Dorian had always liked being the one who could color Cullen’s cheeks, but even so, when Cullen really wanted to bring the fire, Dorian was absolute clay in his hands. He was weak for it, and would have taken it to the floor if Cullen hadn’t stopped. Dorian opened his eyes to see Cullen looking at him and he sighed.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“You really should try to get as much sleep as you can before you leave tomorrow.”

“I really don’t care,” he replied. Dorian’s hand dropped from his neck. “Of course  _ you’re _ the responsible one.”

Cullen stood up and offered Dorian his hand which he took, and Cullen pulled him in.

He hadn’t truly been hugged in a very long time besides Korvyn’s ambushes, but it felt good in a way he couldn’t explain. It was cathartic to embrace him back and feel his own weight lean into it. They were sharing comfort without words and despite the hard armor, Dorian could still smell his skin. 

“I'll miss you.”

“I’ll be just fine.”

Cullen kissed the corner of his mouth and left, and when Dorian closed the door, he stood there a moment and listened to the footsteps in the snow. It really was harder to let him go, especially as he took Dorian’s vulnerabilities with him. He didn’t like having a persona, but Dorian wasn’t sure where the facade ended and his true self began. It was all intertwined. Maybe he was getting too dependent on Cullen’s company - on being able to let his guard down. Cullen was giving him a chance to build up a new self based on these affections, but Dorian didn’t know who that person was. 

_ I should follow him _ . They could spend the night at the tavern, instead. Or Dorian could read in his office while he worked. Anything. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want Cullen to be alone. 

Just as he was about to turn away, he heard a soft knock. When Dorian opened the door, he saw Cullen again there in the cold. They stared at each other a moment, but they both knew why he was there. In one step, Cullen took Dorian’s face in both hands to kiss him like a man starved. The door closed, and Dorian was already walking backwards, pulling off the fur mantle. Hands ruffled in hair and clothes rustled against the other and Dorian had to ask: “What happened to priorities, hm?”

“You are a priority.”

“Shut up,” he found himself laughing.

Cullen smiled nervously, grabbing the leather straps at his chest. “And I  _ really _ don’t know how to take this off.”

“To each his own?”

They immediately kicked their boots off. Cullen dismantled his own armor quickly as Dorian enjoyed watching him easily drop the metal pieces, more skin peeking through until he stretched muscular arms over his head to take off his shirt. For Dorian, it was a simple matter of unclasping a few buckles, and as soon as they were shirtless, Dorian reached for him desperately. His skin was so warm, and it was amazing to finally touch him; to feel the muscle at his fingers and know that this was happening. 

Cullen’s rough hands went up to his ribs and Dorian shivered, his fingers exploring. It felt good to be handled after so long, by hands that seemed to revere him; gentle, testing. Hands he had thought about for a long time. He walked forward until Cullen sat backwards onto the bed as Dorian stood. Dorian stared down as Cullen looked up at him with those amber eyes, wetting his lips. He knew precisely where this could go, as Cullen pulled Dorian to him by the hips. His mouth went to Dorian's hipbone, making him shudder. 

"You’re so gorgeous," he mumbled into Dorian's hip as his lips kissed around his navel, his abs, and the hair trailing downwards as his large hands caressed forward and backward, straying into his waistband, making Dorian lean into the touch. He was half-hard, the bulge obvious, as Cullen's lips moved closer. Cullen was looking up at him from that position, cheeks still pink as he dragged his scarred lips over dark skin. He was sloppy with the kisses there, like he truly wanted to taste him, the slight scrape of teeth had Dorian's hands digging deeper into Cullen's hair. He could get so drunk on feeling admired and Cullen was an expert at worship. Nimble fingers went to untie his front laces, and Dorian put his own hands over Cullen's, dipping their fingers under the strap and pulling the rest of the trousers downwards. 

Cullen looked on and swallowed instinctively, but Dorian was not shy about his physique.  _ Kaffas _ , it had been a while; If Cullen put his mouth around him, it would be over quickly. Dorian moved his hands from Cullen's hair to his shoulders, slowly pushing him onto his back until Dorian took a knee on the bed to stay over him.  _ Slow down _ , he told himself. He wanted to savor it. 

Cullen moved back onto his elbows and Dorian straddled his hips. "Somehow," Cullen smirked, lips swollen, "I had expected you would also be bossy in bed." His voice was reaching that depth that Dorian found irresistible. 

"Thought about it, have you?"

"Of course."

"Do you like it?"

Cullen turned his head to the side as he smiled, "Yes."

Dorian took his hand to Cullen's cheek, moving his view back to his. "This is neutral ground, you know."

"I know."

"Good. Now get your trousers off."

Cullen chuckled and flushed down to his chest.  _ This _ , Dorian thought,  _ This is how it's supposed to be. _ Not shameful secrets in cold, lavish back rooms; not desperate release to get it over with; not another element of the Game in which one was all smiles and hateful words as they clawed each others' backs to prove a point to someone else. Just this gorgeous man under him who wanted him just as badly. He could look down to Cullen with fondness openly on his face.  _ No ulterior motives, what a pleasant change _ . 

Dorian's hands spread over Cullen's chest, feeling the scars there and hoping to learn more about them. Cullen squirmed beneath him, finally working at getting that waistband down and swallowed a gasp at the contact of his cock meeting Dorian's. Dorian helped to get the clothes off the bed and stopped for a moment - perhaps too long - to take in the view. Cullen threw an arm over his own face "Dorian,"

"Absolutely," Dorian kissed his stomach, "no reason," his sternum, "to be bashful." He moved the arm covering Cullen’s face aside to gently kiss his mussed and nervous face. It was unbelievable that this was Cullen at his most vulnerable, and Dorian got to walk him through it; A true display of trust from a man who carried a sword at all times. Dorian couldn't help but move his hand down to feel him at last, and Cullen’s breath quickened as he stroked rhythmically. Cullen fixed his hand back to Dorian's dark hair, pulling him down to taste him again. Dorian let his weight fall onto Cullen, chest to chest, groin to groin, and he moaned softly beneath him at the hot contact and pressure, starting to thrust upward. Cullen became intent on kissing his neck and Dorian let himself enjoy that wet heat on his pulse, despite any mark that might be there in the morning. He had no headspace to think of anyone else. Cullen was getting restless and his hips rose and fell. He was unravelling beneath him, "Dorian," he pleaded, but Dorian only bit his lip a little harder. He knew he would always remember this, the Commander under him, pleading, trusting that Dorian could take over for a little while and give him that release. And he would.

Cullen's hands slid down Dorian’s side to grip his ass and Dorian jerked forward. "Maker, Cullen," he smirked.

"All right?" Cullen rasped.

"Yes," he breathed. "Is just hands okay for now?"

"Just put them on me," 

Dorian held Cullen’s shoulders onto the bed where they belonged and took them both in hand. Cullen placed his own fingers over Dorian's, pre-cum helping with the friction. His other hand took hold of the sheets, trying not to lose reality. So used to being in control of himself, Cullen was catching the air in his throat not to cry out.

"You can be loud," Dorian suggested, smirking down at him. Cullen's head pushed farther back into the pillow as he arched into Dorian's grip.

" _ Fuck _ ," he breathed. They were matching pace, and the desperate burn all through his body made him want to be faster; instead he moved slower and harder. Cullen grabbed Dorian by the back of the neck and pulled him down, flipping them over.

Cullen was heavy on top of him with his mouth at Dorian’s jaw and Dorian closed his eyes to remember the moment. He didn’t know what they’d have tomorrow, but right now he had this. He was starting to let go, too. 

At Dorian's own moans, Cullen started to follow, and Dorian didn't know how much longer he could hold on, knowing he was pulling those desperate sounds from Cullen's lips. The pleasure was building a crescendo, and Dorian was panting into Cullen's neck. 

"Cullen," Dorian warned

"I've got you."

The friction felt so good against Cullen; Maker, he was like this because of him;  _ because of me _ . Dorian had wanted to outlast Cullen, but he had underestimated his touch. He gripped steadfast and his voice choked as he spilled onto his stomach. His breath hit him again roughly as he rode out the orgasm, still rocking into those fists to get every mile. Cullen was close behind after watching Dorian, coming into their joined hands and gasping Dorian's name, mind awash with release. Dorian kissed the scar at the corner of his mouth while he caught his breath, the waves starting to ebb away. He tucked his face back into Cullen's neck as he lay atop him, tired. They took a moment to let their right minds return, and the sweat cooled. Cullen lifted his head to see Dorian’s expression. 

"You. . ." he said.

"Me."

"Honestly, I  _ was _ just going to talk." 

“Is that right? No other way to pass the time?”

“Well, we used to just play chess; remember that?”

Dorian did something he had never done after sex; he laughed. Was that a thing that happened, rather than sultry remarks? Cullen shook his head at him with a small smile. “Yes, well, funny how things change.”

Cullen rolled onto his side, while Dorian wobbled onto his feet to get a rag from his basin. They cleaned up, and Dorian sat back on the side of the mattress. Cullen was an absolute portrait on his bed, stretched out and watching him. 

“Here’s something I wouldn’t have expected even a few weeks ago,” Dorian said. “The waiting worked out."

“Maybe it was decent timing. I had to be sure of something first.”

"Your threshold?"

Cullen smiled with disbelief. "Speak for yourself."

"Shush, I'm teasing. Whatever your reasons, it worked out."

"Then come here."

Dorian felt a blush blooming up his face again, glad Cullen couldn't see it. Were they going to hold each other again? Dorian hesitated, unsure if this was something he wanted. “Cuddling” seemed like such a dreadfully sappy thing. It wasn't very  _ him _ , was it? That's what lovers did, supposedly. Perhaps they would just sleep beside each other. And maybe get tangled up. And curse him if that didn’t sound nice.

“What's on your mind?"

“ _ Festis bei umo canavarum _ ”

“Is that bad?”

_ “ _ Terrible, _ ”  _ he said, as he lifted the covers and moved under them with Cullen. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” 

“You’re asking? Seems you’ve already made yourself at home.”

“It’s etiquette. ”

“And what kind of monster would kick this face out into the snow?” Dorian pulled at his cheek to tease, but Cullen tolerated it as a man with younger siblings would have to. He was wondering how to position himself when Cullen's arms came up to wrap around his neck, kissing the top of his head with affection. A pain squeezed inside Dorian's chest,  _ Is this okay?  _ He snaked his own arm around Cullen, and held tightly.

"Thank you, Dorian." Cullen murmured into his hair.

"Hush," Dorian whispered. He didn't know if he could take any more tenderness without guilt.

"Can I see you before you leave?”

“Probably,” Dorian said into his neck. 

“I’ll miss you."

"So you've said." But he added, more gently, "I’ll miss you too.”

It was a mirror of the position they had the day before in Cullen’s bed, and the familiarity no longer left him uncertain. It was, actually, more than okay.

“Since you’re going to Orlais,” Cullen said. “The author who wrote the Adventures of Ser Dorvin recently published a new serial. Will you get me a copy while you’re there?”

“That old trash?” 

“I just said it was new!”

“If it’s by that author, it’s going to be terrible.”

“And authors aren’t allowed to grow? Etienne’s entire arc was incredible in book four.”

“What is the point in killing off a character  _ twice _ ? His cousin however - he did get it right with that character.”

As they continued to talk, the fire burned down, as did their voices. They were both exhausted from the day’s demand, and soon they stopped talking altogether. Cullen relaxed his muscles and slowed his breathing, and Dorian closed his eyes, listening to Cullen's heartbeat as they lay in the dark and the pulse slowed. Though the man didn't get much of it, Cullen seemed to fall into sleep quickly; a side-effect of military life.

Dorian could feel Cullen's cheek still nuzzled into his hair as he breathed against it, and strange nerves reawakened. It didn't make sense how melancholy sat in his chest alongside the comfort and adoration with Cullen's fondness for him. What was this then? How did this work in the South? With casual flings he was used to having his body admired, maybe sleeping side-by-side, but not soft kisses and being embraced. This wasn't just fooling around, but it didn't feel like a formal “courtship.” He really should have spoken with Cullen about it before pushing him onto the bed, though he supposed they both were to blame. Always the here, the now, the worry about it later. But he would be horrified if it changed things. . . if their friendship suffered; if they harbored jealousies or started arguing as his parents so often did just because they were sleeping together now. He valued so dearly the few people around which he could let his guard down. He didn't want things to change, but perhaps it was too late for that. Well, it wouldn't be the first time he had to harden his heart.

Cullen shifted under him, his hand so lightly sliding down Dorian's back. Maybe it didn't have to be that way; maybe they could have something different. Cullen was a good man. Anyone at Skyhold would say so. A tiny ember of that thought kept him from worrying too much as he started to slip to the Fade;  _ He's a good man _ .

_ At least, if anyone would fuck it up, it would be you, Pavus - _ that seemed about right. At least, in that way, he had a little bit of control.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
